


Ataas shokra

by Fiala



Series: The Age of Struggle [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adaar Backstory, F/M, Gen, POV Multiple, Slow Burn Romance, Trans Adaar, Trans Characters, Trans Couple, trigger warnings applied to appropriate chapters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:08:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 56,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6972283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiala/pseuds/Fiala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm not waiting for a punchline from a god, especially not the human one. Who laughed while he watched his own wife burn on the pyre, Mafareth or the Maker?"</p><p>Irasae Adaar, apostate and atheist, wakes up the herald of a god she does not believe in. Everything around her is thrown into chaos. Of course, only she can try to fix the sky with the glowing wormhole on her hand. </p><p>She didn't sign up for this shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I will try to post trigger warnings on the appropriate chapters. All notes on other references such as language will be listed in the chapter notes at the bottom.
> 
> Thank you, and I hope you enjoy the fic!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited/updated 13/11/17 (D/M/Y)
> 
> tw: in-game slur, inebriation, mentions of death, blood, in-game discrimination
> 
> Many thanks to Jel for pointing out an error I'd made regarding the timeline. I wrote the prologue after I wrote chapter 1 (listed as chapter 2) and I didn't catch it when I went back to edit.

                                         

* * *

 

Irasae disliked taverns. As much time as she spent in them, it was only for the cheap drink. The stench of inebriated humans was thick. 

The place was one miserable establishment. Men leered over their pints at the nervous serving girls. The bartender fidgeted behind her place at the counter. She seemed to glance at everyone and everything all at once.

This whole ‘conclave’ was full of tension. That was what happened when you placed two belligerent parties in one area. The mages here had every right to feel uncomfortable with the Templars, and the Order with the Rebels.

No better excuse to drink, in her opinion. 

One of the servers squeaked. An offending hand curved around her behind. The squeeze the man was giving seemed to be digging in and not letting go.

She sighed. Of course, a room full of drunks brought out the worst of the lowlives.

Irasae felt a tap on her shoulder. Katoh’s pale fingers twiddled with Irasae’s braid. She turned around in her seat to face her teacher.

 _“Do you want me to go over there?”_ she asked in qunlat, and her teacher nodded.

“ _Be gentle with the fool.”_

Irasae nodded stood. The bartender looked up at her with no subtle amount of suspicion. The vashoth was a head taller than most humans. Whenever she did anything, everyone would notice.

“Hey,” called Irasae. Her hand went to the man’s shoulder. His grip had nothing on hers. “This woman doesn’t appreciate your attention, serrah. Let go.”

“Feck off, why don’t ya,’’ he started. As he turned, his mouth fell open.

“Sorry, but I’m not going anywhere. Not until you apologize to her,” said Irasae, gesturing to the server, who had fled behind the counter.

“Like the Void I’m gonna apologize to some whore because a fecking qunari asks me to! Who the hell do you think you are, you stupid ox!” yelled the man. He grabbed a mug and threw it at her. It missed, glancing off a nearby table with a clatter.

“I’m security. It’s my job to make sure free-loading scumbags like you stay in your place. If you want to cause trouble, you have to deal with me. Apologize,” she replied.

His face flushed an intense red.

“If it’s a fight’s what you want, oxman, come and bloody get it!” cried the drunkard. He stood up from the table, swaying.

Her ‘opponent’ barely had his wits about him-she doubted he’d have them sober-and was a short fellow.If she so much as blew on him, he’d topple like a paper doll.

“You asked me what I thought of you, so I answered truthfully,” she said. The man raised his fists in response. His body bobbed as he bounced on his heels. The drunkard had now become a jester. Almost everyone in the tavern had their eyes on them, muttering and giggling and then hushing.

They were waiting for the _Q_ _unari_ to display its dominance, its bloodthirsty tendencies and cruel teeth. They wouldn’t get dominance. She wouldn’t indulge that fantasy.

With a growl, the man charged. Irasae took a step to her right. He crashed headfirst into a table, then crumpled to the floor. He did not get up again.

_What an idiot, she thought._

Laughter erupted from the other patrons as she slid back into her seat. Katoh’s wide eyes were fixated on the worn set of playing cards she’d arranged on the table. It was a measly set for Chanson d’ Argent, but her teacher had the very qunari habit of never throwing useable things away. They played with stained and bent cards with faded suit images.

 _“Your move, Adaar_ ,” said Katoh _._ Her bangled hands folded neatly in her lap.

* * *

Guard rotations finally changed shifts a while after they ended their last round and ate supper. The Temple of Sacred Ashes itself was dank, even with so many emissaries clogging its halls. There were elves here and there (some dalish, most not) and even the rare dwarf. All those small people seemed to have bigger problems than Irasae did, which she found amusing.

The infrastructure of the stone was high enough to allow her horns. Most human-built buildings were just barely high enough for her to cross the threshold with her knees slightly bent.

Irasae was positioned close to the heart of the temple. She hadn’t been inside a chantry or anything like it since she was a baby. Maybe it was just the lighting or the dripping leak echoing off in the distance that unsettled her stomach.

Katoh had these moods where she wouldn’t set foot in certain situations entirely on a feeling. Most often her ‘instincts’ weren’t too far off. Once they’d been hired by an Orlesian landowner in the Dales to clear bandits from the premises. Before Shokrakar could accept the offer, her teacher immediately advised her against it.

As it had turned out, there were no bandits, just a lot of homeless elves. They had taken shelter under the boughs of the orchid trees while it rained for a fortnight. The man’s paltry offer of coin hadn’t had any takers, so Shokrakar negotiated that Taarlok would be sent to help them relocate.

With man’s tendency to create conflict, Irasae didn’t see an end to the war. The masses were intoxicated by all the bloodletting by the hands of the apostates and templars. Then there was the Chantry, scrambling to gather what little honour they still possessed.

The sudden implosion of the Kirkwall Chantry had galvanized the belligerents. It pushed them to kill innocents and create more avengers. She didn’t want the projection of a power-hungry apostate slapped onto her back with all the other labels.

Irasae and Katoh were caught in the middle of that. They were oddities in this land, both Vashothari and mages outside of the Chantry's influence, apostates.

It was in ideology that they clashed the most. Her teacher was an idealist, seeking the good that could not last or be sustained. Irasae was a realist. This was the way the world was. She had to think differently from everyone else! How else would they continue on through this war? Certainly not by blindly trusting the ones responsible for the defection of the Circles. Helping one mage could create a ripple effect, but one ripple could not change the tides of the ocean.

_Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun; sataareth ataas shokra._

She could almost hear the waves crashing on the beach. The grey shale pushed back from the water on the Storm Coast, glimmering with the colours of dawn as it broke.

No, that wasn’t a wave. Again the small sound echoed against the stone.

A shadow darted across the hall, slithering past the flickering torchlight. The tingling underneath her skin was faint, a certain sign of magic.

_Dammit._

Fire flared before her eyes, distorting the caster behind it. She dropped low to avoid the blast and its smoke; she swung her hands and summoned a bolt of energy, and thrust it forward. He meant to dodge, but something slowed his movement. In that moment, Irasae could identify her target. Blue and silver. A griffon.

_A Grey Warden._

She took hold of her staff and swung. His feet swept to the side, his eyes not even widening by the impact. He laid on the hard ground. The blade at the tip of her weapon pressed at the juncture of the Warden’s throat.

A few, broken notes sounded from his mouth. As he warbled, the sound of fighting broke out from the atrium.There was no tension in his eyes, only a wide, pleading stare.He wasn’t going to attempt to cast again.

“What’s going on?”she asked.

The mage whimpered.

“Can you speak?”

“Y-yes…” he said.

The warden’s whole body trembled.

“Run. This place, it’s not going to last.” He gasped, “We’re going to die. All of us. You need to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on. Hey!” she cried. His head had lolled to the side.

There was no pulse.

She left the dead warden and ran towards the entryway. Kaaris hadn’t reported back to her since the first hour. She _should have_ noticed the delay. She _should have known_ this wasn’t going to end well.

Irasae burst into the chamber. The stench of blood hit her nose. There were dead people everywhere. At the forefront was the Divine, and Wardens, and-

“What the hell is going on here?!” she cried, raising her staff.

The apparition, no, the _creature_ turned to her. In its hand was a glowing sphere. _What the hell was that thing?_

“Run! You must warn them!” cried the Divine.

“Slay the qunari!” The thing commanded. Suddenly, the object in its hand was knocked into the air.

The sphere rolled towards her feet. She reached for it as it rolled into her left palm.

She screamed. Pain ripped like hot fire in her hand. _Too much,_ ** _TOO MUCH!_** She was falling backward, her mind away from her body. Irasae felt her back hit the stone wall. The pain never came.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun; sataareth ataas shokra: The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless; it upholds the glorious struggle.
> 
> (a) a modified version of the qunari verse used by the Valo-kas
> 
> Cover image by me: http://vashedan.deviantart.com/art/Ataas-shokra-cover-682237746


	2. I. Dangerous Sinners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited/updated: 13/11/17 (D/M/Y)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Demon blood, bloodshed, cussing, misgendering, mentions of death.
> 
> This first chapter is longer and game-text heavy. The later chapters will have significantly less of it, I promise.

 

Irasae felt the darkness. She did not need to open her eyes to know the emptiness of it. It wascold and seeping into her skin.

When she did open her eyes, there was only faint torchlight. Irasae struggled to see the flickering flame, her focus blurred by the dark.

The door crashed open against the stone wall. The sound of swords sheathing made her skin prickle. A woman entered. A warrior, deduced from the slight sheen of her armour. She rounded behind Irasae where she couldn’t see her.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you, right here and now?” she asked. Her breath was so close it touched Irasae’s neck.

How many times had she asked herself that very question, with a blade at her neck and a \ human spitting in her face?

“The conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead, except for you.”

Another woman stalked in from the darkness. Her face was eerily serene.

“You think I’m responsible?” said Irasae. What was this? Where was this? Who-

“If you are innocent, explain _this_ ,” she said. The warrior gripped Irasae’s shackled hand. She choked on a gasp. An unnatural light glowed from her palm, pain erupting with it. As suddenly as she had taken it, the warrior dropped her hand. They both circled around her, two vultures with a taste for weakness.

“I…can’t,” she groaned. The spasm eased slowly. What the hell was going on with her hand?

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know, can I?” said Irasae.

Sharp talons gripped into the front of her coat. The warrior’s face came close to hers, teeth clenched in anger.

“You’re lying,” she hissed. The other woman rose up in front of her and pushed the angry one aside.

“We need him, Cassandra,” she said. The soft lilt of her accent became unpleasant with the words that came out of her mouth.

“Him?” asked Irasae, “Is the person you’re interrogating suddenly a man?” How dare she? Ridiculous, inane humans! Was she really so shrouded in the dark that these people were rendered blind?

“….We need  _her_ ,” corrected the other woman, “And whatever  _she_  does know.” She turned to Irasae. “Do you remember what happened?”

“No. All I know is that everybody’s dead, like you told me.” Irasae was tired. There was fatigue in her body. Her head spun with the thought of her kith, _Katoh, Kaariss._

“Enough questions. Go to the forward camp, Leliana,” said Cassandra. “I will take her to the rift.” Leliana paused to look at Irasae for a long moment, but did as the warrior ordered.

Cassandra unlocked the shackles on her legs and wrists. They ascended the stairs. Irasae recognized the red and gold heraldry hanging from the walls. Humans stared openly at her, whispering to each other. Almost all were glaring, some even weeping as they did so.

“What did happen?” she asked. Cassandra gave her a hard look.

“It will be easier to understand once I show you,” she replied. Irasae kept her eyes firmly straight ahead, deigning not to intercept all of the unwanted attention she was receiving. She felt as if she were naked in a room full of knives. Any blade could cut her open, could make her bleed until her life fizzled out.

The great doors groaned as they opened. Winter wind bit into her skin, and she remembered why they called this place Haven. It was so because in this frozen village was the only fire for many miles.

That fire was now in the sky, green and horrifying, just as her left hand was. This was the ‘rift’ Cassandra meant to show her? It looked more like a gaping hole, one that should have been impossible to create.

What if she was actually responsible for this? Was that even possible with her magic? No, that was insane. It shouldn’t be conceivable.

“We call it the Breach. It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

It would have taken a massive blast to wipe out everyone within the temple. Such an explosion that could tear open a barrier between the physical world and the Fade could not have be cast by an ordinary mage.

 “Can it actually do  _that_?” asked Irasae.

“It did, and unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world,” said Cassandra.

The blasted thing on her hand pulsed with a pain so strong it took her at the knees. Irasae’s eyes burned Wet from the snow seeped into the cloth of her breeches.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads. Yes, it is killing you. It may also be the key to stopping this, but there is so little time.”

“You think, but you don’t know, do you? You don’t even know if I will survive trying to close that _thing_!”

“Either you die here doing nothing or you try to seal the Breach and live. There is only one option,” retorted Cassandra.

“I feel so reassured,” she replied. Her whole mouth was dry. That thing, whatever the hell it was, was connected to the larger and more terrifying hole in the sky. What did they expect she would do to close it? Stitch it shut? Dammit. Fucking hell had been awakened in the sky.

“Will you cooperate or not?” demanded the warrior.

“Since I don’t have any real choice, yes. I’ll…cooperate. For now.”

“That is all we ask. Come.” Cassandra helped her to her feet.

Pilgrims and soldiers had gathered around the foot of the Chantry doors. There was intense murmuring amongst humans with grieved expressions. One spat at her feet as she walked past.

“They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our most holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The conclave was hers,” said Cassandra.

Irasae was being led down a snowy path. If it were any normal day, she would’ve kept her eyes to the sky. The metamorphosis of colours brought ease. If only she could just slip away for just a few moments…

_“Where are you when you fade out, Adaar?” Shokrakar’s wide smile had been fixed on her again, her large hand handling a mug._

_“Somewhere where I can’t hear Katoh complaining about how low her cut was last month,” Irasae had grumbled._

_“Well, seeing as you’ve been dealing with her for most of that time, I’ll reward your hard work.”_

_Shokrakar had handed her a letter. The seal was ornate, red with the markings of the Chantry. It had been removed carefully. Taarlok was always gentle with their correspondence papers._

_“This came in from Val Royeaux. Taarlok says it’s from the Left Hand of the Divine.”_

_“Why would they ask for us?” Irasae had asked._

_“They want a neutral party as security for this divine Conclave,” Shokrakar had replied. “Who better than Tal’vashoth to handle the job?”_

_“You want us there? This is about their war.”_

_“_ Their war _affects you and Katoh, whether you choose to believe it or not. I’d rather send my best to give a good impression than a shitty one.”_

_Irasae had skimmed the Orlesian cursive quickly, her mouth opening as she reached the end._

_“That can’t be the actual pay. That’s too much.”_

_“Or this Divine is actually thinking her head instead of her sword. Not all humans are savages, Adaar.” The tal’vashoth had winked at her, grinning._

“…we lash out like the sky, but we must think beyond ourselves as she did. Until the Breach is sealed.”

They arrived at the battlements. Cassandra pulled a blade from her hip and cut Irasae’s remaining bonds.

“There will be a trial, I can promise no more. Come, it is not far.”

* * *

 

As they proceeded up the mountain trail, Irasae saw the chaos spread. Fiery green meteors fell from the Breach, causing small explosions upon impact. Demons rose up from the debris.

A squad of soldiers fled from the mountain. One of them cried out to the Maker, the unfamiliar verses fading as Irasae marched past. There was no time to venerate some god that allowed _this_ to unfold.

Another pulse came, ripping through her arm into her shoulder. Irasae gritted her teeth. She squatted in the snow, head between her shaking legs.

The warrior came down beside her. She felt a hand grip firmly on her shoulder.

“The pulses are coming faster as we approach. Can you stand?” she asked. Irasae nodded. Cassandra stood firm as Irasae regained her balance.

“Do you know how I survived the blast?” asked Irasae.

“They say that you…stepped out of a rift. Afterwards, you immediately fell unconscious. They say there was a woman in the rift behind you.”

“Did she make it out?”

“I do not know. We don’t even know if she was human or not.”

_She could have been an elf, dwarf, or vashoth too. You know, the_ **_other_ ** _species that live in Thedas?_

They had begun to cross the bridge when a bolt of green crashed down upon the stone. It crumbled beneath their feet. Irasae was thrown onto the frozen river below. Her ears rung as she staggered to her feet.

The sky birthed another projectile. It crashed some feet before them, a swarm of demons unearthed from the site.

“Stay behind me!” yelled Cassandra.

_Does a seven-foot vashoth look like she needs protection to you? Or is it the mark making me look weak?_

The ground in front of her lit up. A demon crawled out of the ice.

_There is no way in hell I’m just going to stand here and watch._

_S_ he reached for her mana. Cold, she needed the cold. Irasae called the ice to her hands and shot frozen projectiles at the creature. It recoiled with a screech. As the Shade hurtled towards her, a pillar of ice rose from the river. It skewered the creature through its middle, blood spewing on everything in staining distance.

_At least the demon blood takes the sting out of the wind._

Cassandra pulled her blade from the body of her Shade and looked at her in bewilderment.

“You’re a mage? Don’t move!” she cried.

“I don’t have to move to cast,” said Irasae, her tone dry.

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

“I’m stating facts. I haven’t used my magic on you yet,” said Irasae. Cassandra seemed to relax, if only a little. With a sigh, she sheathed her sword.

“You’re right. You seem capable enough to protect yourself,” she said, “I should remember that you did not attempt to run.”

_If I ran the chances of me getting skewered would be upped considerably._

The wind only seemed to blow harder. Crackling with the sound of the Breach, the sky reminded Irasae of a storm. Except this one could kill anyone at any distance.

They crossed the mountain terrain covered in demon blood and muck, slaying as many demons as they could.

“We’re getting close to the rift. You can hear the fighting,” yelled Cassandra, fighting to be heard over the roaring wind. She pressed a flask into Irasae’s palm. “A potion for fatigue. Use it if you must.”

“Your soldiers?”

“And others. We must help them!”

The soldier’s battlefield was a building now reduced to rubble. The whole place was infested with Shades. Irasae did not hesitate to begin casting. She called on fire, ice and lightning until every last one of them had disintegrated.

She inched closer to the rift in the centre. It was much smaller than the breach. An elven mage urged her closer still. With sudden tenacity, he grabbed her marked hand.

“Quickly, before more come through!” he cried. He pushed the mark pushed it into the rift. She gasped. It was numbing, neither hot nor cold. The feeling reflexively clamped her palm into a fist. With a sputter, the rift curled into nothing.

“What did you do?” she asked.

“Nothing. It is you who closed the rift.”

_If I recall correctly, you were the one who grabbed my hand and forced it in._

“You mean this  _thing_.” She opened her palm.

“Whatever magic opened the breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake. It seems I was correct.”

“Meaning, it could also close the Breach itself,” said Cassandra.

“Possibly,” replied the elf. He spoke with a confidence no circle mage held. Her teacher had often spoken in the same manner, unafraid of what was and of what was to be done in response. “It seems that you hold the key to our salvation.”

“As long as you know I’m not actually Andraste in disguise,” she muttered.

“Good to know! Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever,” said a dwarf.

“Varric Tethras-rouge, storyteller, and occasionally,” he winked at Cassandra, “Unwelcome tagalong.” To this, the warrior only scowled.

“Are you with the Chantry?” asked Irasae.

“Was that a serious question?” said the elf, chuckling.

“Technically, I’m a prisoner. Just like you,” replied Varric, “Her prisoner, specifically,” he gestured to Cassandra.

“I brought you to Haven so you could tell your story to the Divine…but that is no longer necessary,” she said.

“Yet, here I am. Lucky for you, considering recent events,” he said.

_A dwarven rogue, an elven mage, and the Right Hand of the Divine. Splendid company for an event I’m not likely to live through._

“So I closed the rift. Now, what?” There was a pregnant pause.

“Now we go to meet Leliana at the forward camp,” said Cassandra.

“What a great idea,” said Varric.

“Oh, I don’t think so. Your help is appreciated, Varric, but- ’’

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me,” he said, wearing a particularly smug grin on his face.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” said Solas, “I’m pleased to see you still live.”

“He means: ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’” supplied Varric.

“I was asleep? For how long?” she asked.

“A few days. However, to the many here, it was a lifetime,” said Cassandra.

_Thank asaaranda I wasn’t awake to witness_ that _._

“Thank you, Solas. I guess I can’t close the Breach if I’m dead,” replied Irasae.

“That is true,” said Solas. “Cassandra, the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine  _any_  mage having such power.

_And they call us dangerous sinners, thought Irasae._

“Understood,” said Cassandra. “Let’s move.”

* * *

 

“Well done,” said Solas. Irasae shrugged her shoulders.

“Whatever that thing on your hand is, it’s useful,” mumbled Varric.

As they approached, she saw Leliana with a man in Chantry robes at the far end of the camp. His voice wasn’t kind to the ears in any respect.

“Ah, here they come,” he said.

“You made it. Chancellor Roderick, this is- ’’ started Leliana.

“I know who he is,” said the cleric. He squinted at Irasae.

“I’m a woman,” said Irasae tersely. “Need some spectacles, old man?”

The Chancellor ignored her jab. She heard a snort from one of her companions. 

“As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution,” he said, directing his gaze at the Seeker.

“Order me?” said Cassandra, “You are merely a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!”

“And you are a thug, one who supposedly serves the Chantry!”

“We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know,” said Leliana. Though her voice wavered, her face was still as calm as when Irasae had first seen her in the cells.

“Justinia is dead! We must elect a replacement and follow her orders on the matter!” cried Chancellor.

“So none of you are actually in charge here,” said Irasae. This was a perfect example of typical human behaviour. They were all standing around bickering without actually deciding on a course of action and taking it.

“You killed everyone who was in charge!” The Chancellor shot Cassandra a withering look.

_I think I would remember if I actually killed that many humans in one day…wouldn’t I?_

“Call the retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”

“I will not, not when we can stop this before it’s too late,” said Cassandra.

“How?” he asked. “You won’t survive long enough to reach the temple, even with all your soldiers.”

“We must get to the temple. It’s the quickest route,” said the Seeker.

“But not the safest. Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains,” said Leliana.

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It’s too risky.” Cassandra gestured to location. It looked colder than the camp by a wide margin.

“Listen to me,” said the Chancellor, “Abandon this now, before more lives are lost!”

The Breach rumbled, and Irasae’s hand flared. The pain was as strong as before, but she would not show her weakness to this scum of a man.

“How do you think we should proceed, Adaar?” Leliana asked quietly.

“Oh, now you want to know what I think?” exclaimed Irasae.

“You have the mark,” said Solas.

“And you are the one we must keep alive. Since we cannot agree on our own…” Cassandra trailed off.

“Of course. Thank you for making it clear to me now,” retorted Irasae. “We charge.”

The Chancellor seemed to pale a little.

“I won’t live long enough for your trial, so whatever happens, it happens now. Are we clear?” she asked. She hoped that these companions of hers were sharper than the Chantry lapdog in front of her.

“Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley.  _Everyone,”_ ordered the Seeker.

“Maker bless your soul, tal’Vashoth,” said Chancellor Roderick, “It will be the only blessing you’ll receive from the Chantry.”

_I can deal with that. It’s not like your blessing will do a damn thing anyway. There’s a fucking hole in the sky and your Maker turned his back on all of us a long time ago._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Roderick... He redeems himself later on, but I still don't like him for his prejudices...
> 
> Chapter 2 is on the way~


	3. II. Wallowing in human excrement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Edited/updated 13/11/17, D/M/Y)
> 
> I am so sorry. First off, I started writing this story in May. It is now October and I just realized I had the original chapter 2 on a separate USB. The Plough horse is chapter 3, and is now fixed.
> 
> I'm sorry for deleting the one comment that was on there. You have my thanks for leaving it!
> 
> Here is the aftermath of the first attempt to seal the Breach.

Fresh snow fell onto the tip of Irasae’s nose. 

The door behind her was closed quietly. A brilliant red flag was draped across the front. She considered the whole idea of the past while…foggy. As it stood before, Irasae had no recollection of what had happened the day everything went to the Void.

Now, she had lost three days. From the note in the cabin, there had been recorded no less than two attempts on her life. Also, there had almost been a Templar incursion while she was in and out of consciousness. Considering the green, pulsing mark on her hand, perhaps the healer’s concerns were not in excess.

In the nearsightedness of her thoughts, Irasae nearly ran over a soldier; He looked up and up at her face. His eyes widened, and instead of fear, he thumped his armoured chest.

“Your worship,” he said.

“As you were, serrah,” Irasae pointed to the building behind her, “Around my door?”

“Y-yes, your Worship.” There it was again. This title, of what respect did he draw from?

“Who stationed you?”

“Lady Cassandra. After the first break-in, she assigned us to keep the rabble out. I’m glad for it, seeing you well.”

‘Really?” asked Irasae incredulously, “You’re glad?”

“Uh… yes. I am, your Worship,” said the soldier. “We all are, as you did save our lives by closing the Breach.”

“I see. Carry on,” said Irasae.

Before she’d wandered out of her cabin, she’d penned a letter to Shokrakar. Better to hear from her than whatever bullshit that would come back through the grapevine.

_Dear Shokrakar, where is the letter to excuse me? I believe I have spent enough time wallowing in human excrement._

_Ataas shokra,_

_Adaar_

_(Haven’t received payment yet, I’m working on it)_

Was she expected somewhere? Knowing Cassandra, it was better to read between the lines. The sooner she found the Seeker, the farther away she would be from Haven when all the political turmoil found a way to disrupt the humans further.

_Katoh, I am alive. The magic you taught me didn’t go to waste. I fully intend to electrocute the people who thought they could slit my throat while I was unconscious, provided they are still around to kill, she thought._

_Shit, I hope you’re still alive. Please still be alive._

There were soldiers everywhere. Their hands reached to their chests as Irasae approached, some even bowing their heads with what she could only interpret to be respect. Though some prejudices remained unshaken. She did not imagine the grudging eyes or the muttering as she headed to the Chantry.

Chancellor Roderick’s voice was loud enough that it rattled all around it. The servants shrunk into the shadows between the lit torches, scuttling to find their way to their destination quickly. Even the guards who stood outside the offending room exchanged looks that spoke just as loudly.

As before, they saluted her with two thumps of armour. She heard Cassandra’s verbatim as she approached the door. The look of unmitigated shock from the cleric almost made her smile with glee, if she were capable of that debauch happiness in this very odd situation.

“Chain her,” commanded the Chancellor, “I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.” Irasae whipped around. The guards had barely moved half a step, sheepishly looking her tall frame.

“Disregard that, and leave us,” said Cassandra firmly. With no hesitation-and an unhindered sense of relief- the guards saluted her and left.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” said Roderick, scowling.

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.”

“I did what I could with this mark to close the Breach,” said Irasae, “And I nearly died doing it.”

_So the damn thing is still a problem. Great. Now they’ll have to use the jinx on my hand as an excuse to keep me around._

“Yet you live. A convenient result, insofar as you’re concerned,” said the Chancellor.

Cassandra snorted and replied: “Have a care, Chancellor. The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave,” said Leliana, “Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others – or have allies who yet live.”

“ _I_ am a suspect?” cried Roderick. He nearly reeled back. Irasae tried hard to fight the grin from her lips.

“You, and many others,” Leliana bit back sharply. What Irasae had interpreted as calm was now steel. It was hot anger equipped with an edge that could halve grass.

“But not the prisoner,” said Roderick.

“I heard the voices in the temple,” said Cassandra, “The Divine called to her for help. Would you call such evidence falsehood?”

“So _her_ survival, that _thing_ on her hand- all a coincidence?”

“Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

“Are you sure?” said Irasae, unable to keep from chuckling at the sheer incredulousness of it all, “You really think your Maker would send someone like me?”

“The Maker does as He wills. It is not for me to say,” replied the Seeker.

“Even if it means a vashoth is his chosen?”

“Humans are not the only people with an interest in the fate of the world.”

“The Breach remains, and your mark seems to be the only hope of stopping it,” said Leliana.

“That is not for you to decided,” interjected the Chancellor, now aware that he had been dismissed.

Instead of humouring him with a response, Cassandra gave him an action. She took a book from the other side of the room and slammed it to the wooden table to make her point.

“Do you know what this is, Chancellor?” She didn’t wait for him to open his mouth, “It’s a writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.”

The Seeker advanced upon the Grand Cleric with such fierceness the yellow-bellied prick started to squirm a bit.

“ _We will_ close the Breach, _we will_ find those responsible and _we will_ restore order, _with or without_ your approval.”

Roderick merely blustered for a fraction of a moment. Then he turned tail and fled the room.

Cassandra’s bravado seemed to falter. She returned to the table silently.

“This is the Divine’s directive. Rebuild the Inquisition of old, and to find those who will stand against the chaos,” said Leliana, her eyes fixed on the book, “We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But now we have no choice: We must act now,” said Cassandra.

“We?” asked Irasae. _You intend to involve me in this. Of course you do. I’m your only hope, your only goddamn scapegoat._

“Do you see any other with a glowing key on their hand? We need you. The Inquisition needs you,” replied Cassandra.

“What was the Inquisition of old?”

“It preceded the Chantry,” answered Leliana, “People who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad.”

“After, they laid down their banner and formed the Templar Order. But the Templars have lost their way. We need those who can do what must be done united under a single banner once more.”

“Aren’t you still part of the Chantry? You were her hands,” said Irasae.

“Is that what you see?” said Cassandra, chuckling to herself.

“The Chantry will take time to find a new Divine, and then it will wait for her direction,” said Leliana.

“But we cannot wait. So many eligible grand clerics died at the conclave…No, we are on our own. Perhaps forever.”

Irasae sighed. Of all the outcomes she imagined, some of which involved taking her leave by force (which wasn’t much, humans were easy to knock over) or stealing away in the night to the villages at the foot of the Frostbacks.

“If I refuse?” she asked. It couldn’t be that simple, not when the end of the world began and ended with her left hand.

“You may go, if you wish,” said Leliana.

_But?_

“You should know Adaar, while some see you as chosen, many still believe you are guilty. The Inquisition can only protect you if you are with us.”

“We can also help you,” said Leliana.

“It will not be easy if you stay, but you cannot pretend this has not changed you.”

"It has physically,” murmured Irasae. She cradled her ‘touched’ hand. “I can’t assume that either of you wanted this. I didn’t, I don’t.”

She thought of her makeshift plans. Surviving the cold of the mountains, forever hunted by zealots chasing after the glow of the fade. What would happen if she went back to her kith? Would she be shunned for an unknown magic she couldn’t control? Would she harm the reputation of the company to the point of unemployment? She couldn’t think of a human who would accept a mercenary who’ killed the Divine’ without thought. That wasn’t feasible. Hell, it wasn’t even rational.

There was no way that she could worm her way out of this. Not a chance in hell.

“…We’ll see how this goes, then,” Irasae concluded.

“That is all we ask,” said Leliana.

The Seeker offered her hand to the vashoth. Irasae could only regard the formality with a level of indifference. Tal’vashoth didn’t shake hands. There was no level of physical touch to transactions such as these. There was discussion, understanding, then agreement (or disagreement, with the butting of horns occasionally).

“Help us fix this before it’s too late,” she said firmly. Reluctantly- and without any experience of having taken a smaller hand without intending to break it- Irasae shook on the Inquisition.

“I’ll try,” she replied flatly.


	4. III. The Plough horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Edited/updated 14/11/17, D/M/Y)
> 
> I will try to keep the order of the chapters in chronological order (to my gameplay experience or to suit my needs). 
> 
> Irasae needs a horse that can seat her comfortably. In-game the horses seat all the races fine, but realistically a Qunari/Vashoth/Tal-Vashoth would need a mount more than a few hands higher.
> 
> Mild trigger of melancholy/depression. No others for this chapter.

Irasae felt her mount slow as they crossed the mountain pass. The Clydesdale, not fit for cantering long distances, had only known the company of a plough before the Inquisition. According to the stable hand, he was the only horse strong enough to pull some of the heavier equipment wagons. So she had taken him on his word and chose the gelding for his strength.

The boy had called him Basil. He was of docile temperament, keen direction and he knew the area well. Therefore he required little guidance.

“Is it the plough horse or the mark that’s slowing you down?” asked Varric teasingly.

The group had just finished conferring with Mother Giselle and had stopped to set up camp at the foot of Lake Luthias.

“Basil does well enough,” said Irasae. “The glowing wormhole on the other hand, I’m not sure.”

Varric grinned and made a remark about glowing cave worms. She let a genuine chuckle slip out.

Cassandra was on first watch while Irasae prepared dinner. Before an awkward conversation about boiling herbs for soup could be repeated, she had killed a few rams. The hunter at the Crossroads had been right. It was good eating.

The stew boiled easily with magical intervention, a delicious scent rising form the cuts of meat. It had barely cooled as Varric had ladled himself a bowl and devoured it. Solas followed suit, though he took his time in savouring the broth.

“There’s a bowl ready for you, Cassandra,” called Irasae. It felt odd to call someone by their first name. Adaar was the name everyone called her, not to mention it was the only one she had given on the contract.No one called the Right hand ‘Pentaghast’.

Did it really matter? She was ‘the survivor’. She was ‘the Herald’, loathe though she was to the title. That put her in a strange position of authority.Cassandra also seemed to approve of Irasae’s assumption of leadership. When Irasae proposed they seal rifts along the way to the cleric, she hadn’t protested.

This group dynamic, however, was unsettling to her. The small camp was removed from Irasae’s idea of a team. She was alone in a tent,but surrounded by strangers. Not that she wanted to share an enclosed space with her new fellows. The Valo-kas dynamic was to share everything, mostly for practicality. That included leadership.

If they were staying in a seedy Orlesian tavern, for example, Katoh would roll out the bedrolls on the floor. If the sheets on the cot were salvageable, Taarlok would spread them over the dust-stained rolls so they felt somewhat clean. Kaaras and Shokrakar would order pints of cheap swill and break open Diamondback.That left Irasae to mix their rations with the bland tavern food to make it taste better.

How many of them that were within the temple had died? Kaariss was on the patrol that didn’t come back. Katoh had left on break just before the explosion. After that, Irasae could not remember.The explosion had only taken the memory, not her life.Which of them had been knocked from their feet, hitting the ground so hard they would never wake up again?

What a price to pay for her own life, forgetting a few minutes in exchange for a dozen lives. None of her kith was worth so little. None.

“Herald, you all right? You look stiff all over,” asked Varric. Irasae nodded. Her shoulders felt locked in place, like the time she’d frozen herself on accident so many years ago. Katoh had laughed.

_I’ll just let you sit to thaw, Adaar,” she’d teased. Irasae had been so frustrated the flames had come easy to her hands. It had taken her half an hour to unthaw the mess._

“It’s cold,” she lied.

“It is cold, but you don’t tense like that from weather,” replied the dwarf.

“I’m not at all inclined to share at the moment, Varric,” Irasae snapped.

“Easy. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Cassandra came down the slope to the fire. She filled her bowl quietly and ate so quickly she burned her tongue.

“That eager to get back to your tree, Seeker?”

“After seeing you try to be friendly, I find I have little fondness for small talk,” she quipped. Solas hummed in agreement. His fingers were working to repair a tear in his cloak.

“Is that relief or suspicion I hear?”asked Varric, half to himself.

Irasae excused herself and retired to her tent soon after that. The sorrows of the recent days dulled as her breathing slowed. In her dreams she watched wisps dance in a field. One whizzed by her ear, the soft sound of a giggle echoing there. The warmth of a compassionate spirit drew her into lighter sleep where there were no dreams. No demons intruded upon her that night.

* * *

 

By the time three days had passed, they had made it to Redcliffe farms. The homesteads were very modest. Even the largest one, which Irasae assumed was Dennet’s, was still quite honest despite its size.

The land was empty. Aside from the impressive stables and the amount of boys scurrying about, the fields were barren.

At the stables entrance, a young woman greeted the group.

“You’re the Inquisition agents?” She glanced over the vashoth, her eyes widening at the sight of her staff. The woman’s surprise at Irasae’s appearance did not soften the looks she gave everyone else.

“Yes. We have business to discuss with the Horsemaster,” replied Irasae.

“Oh, Father’s in the house. The big one, you can’t miss it,” said the woman. “I’m Seanna, pleasure to meet you.”

“Thank you, Seanna,” said Cassandra.

Seanna continued to gawk after them as they made their way to the big house. Dennet seemed less surprised and more begrudged that they were there at all.

“The Inquisition’s looking for mounts? Figures, but I’m not going to send the finest Fereldan’s got just like you’d send a letter. Every bandit between here and Denerim would be on them like flies on crap!”

“I understand that it sounds unreasonable, but the Inquisition has little better than farm horses to serve us,” said Irasae.

“And you can’t rely on a mount that wasn’t built for the job. Believe me, I’ve seen soldiers try to ride in on ponies. Ugly business for the beasts.” Dennet stroked his chin. “I’ll offer you a deal. We’ve been struggling with crop upkeep ever since the sky tore apart. My wife knows more about it, as well as my man Bron. Help them out and your Inquisition will have its horses.”

“I accept your offer,” she said, glancing back to gauge Cassandra’s reaction. Calm, insofar as she was concerned.

“There’s a Fereldan chestnut forder in the corral. My daughter Seanna will show you him. Consider him proof of our deal.”

Then the old man waved them off, saying something about having a stable boy to ream.

The horsemaster’s daughter brought out the horse. Irasae looked upon the beast, Eli, and she knew that he was bred for a human rider. Seanna saddled him swiftly. The horse looked at Irasae warily, as if he shared her thoughts.

She swung one leg over. Behind her there was a suspicious sound, something like smothered laughter.

“You dwarf him,” said Varric. “It’s not funny, per say-”

“You mount him then, Varric,” suggested Solas.

“I’m perfectly fine where I stand, Chuckles.”

Irasae dismounted, handing the reins off to Cassandra. The warrior rolled her eyes at the two men.

“It was too much to hope for, I suppose,” she remarked. The Seeker shook her head.

“The Inquisition will find you a proper mount, Herald.”

“Better than this poor fellow,” Irasae scratched the horse’s jaw.

* * *

 

By the day’s end, they killed a dozen wolves, two-dozen more apostates and Templars, and three bears. Irasae felt relief and aches creep into her as she entered camp. 

Basil was still tied to the tree. He greeted her with a soft wicker as she brushed his neck. She was back to the plough, to the beginning. It was more comforting than she’d expected.

“Better practicality than difficulty, boy,” she said. He nudged her shoulder, as if in agreement.

 

 


	5. IV. Sh!t-show in Val Royeaux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Updated/edited: 14/11/17)
> 
> Trigger warnings: cussing, mentions of discrimination

The Mother lay sprawled on the platform. A brother cradled her injured head and a sister prayed rapidly under her breath.

“This victory must please you greatly, Seeker,” she said.

“And where was this victory? We only wanted to speak with the Mothers,” replied Cassandra.

Irasae saw a prideful woman gazing at defeat. This had little to do with Andraste or the Maker or whatever religious symbol the Chantry could conjure up as a defence. Andrastians could prop her up as their Herald all they liked. It would never make the clerics or even Irasae herself believe it.

After all, how could a vashoth become part of their message? They, the savages, the converters, the thralls of the Qun, part of their world? Humans knew nothing of the _vashothari_. They did not know the separation between those who had abandoned their old lives and those who had never lived it.

An elderly brother had accused her of whispering her ‘Qun’ as she passed him in the marketplace. All it took was the sight of her horns for her to become Qunari. She was Qunari to them, a saarebas that would eventually be bound and leashed as per the demands of the Qun.

She was just a vashoth, one who was in the wrong place and the wrong time. That was what she was. She told the haggard Mother this. Her grimace was more so of relief than satisfaction.

“It is rare one is honest about power. Yet it does not surprise me that you do not call yourself Andraste’s Herald. Rather, it affirms another belief. One that many of the Inquisition’s adversaries claim as fact,” said Hevara, her voice low.

“And what is that?” asked Irasae.

The Revered Mother’s mouth curved into a thin smile.

“That you withhold the truth of what actually happened that day. You, a qunari, survived while her perfection did not. How utterly convenient that you claim to have no memory of it all.” Hevara’s face crumbled, the pain overcoming her voice.

“I have no reason to hide the truth,” said Irasae. “I lost people in that explosion that I cared for as much as you did your Divine.” She found herself breathless as she spoke the words. Her composure was close to breaking, edging on brittle ice ready to crack.

“I suppose you had such honest intentions about this gathering, that you called the Order here?” interjected Cassandra, covering for Irasae. “Unknowing of what happened, you intended that the Templars arrest the Herald because of her apostasy?”

“What else could I have assumed, Seeker, that she is innocent and without blame? I am not so gullible as to let an obvious suspect simply walk through the Divine’s city at her leisure!”

“I had no motivation to kill the Divine or any the people at the temple that day. I don’t remember the blast, of what happened after. That is the truth,” said Irasae, pointing to the sky. “But this hand can seal the rifts, and it can close the Breach. Once it is sealed, we will investigate until justice can given to the dead.”

The Revered Mother’s eyes did not falter as she looked up, looking to the apostate’s with burning intensity.

“I hold you to your claims, Herald.” The title was spoken with vehemence.

They walked away, there being nothing more to say. Cassandra was scowling, Solas silent and Varric was scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment.

The arrow that struck the ground did nothing to alleviate the sudden longing for Haven, for her isolated cabin, for the frozen Fereldan wasteland.

It was another few long weeks before she would feel calm again.

* * *

 

The chantry’s dim lighting had begun to hurt her eyes. In their makeshift meeting place, the torches were brighter because of the smallness of the room. 

Thedas’ map had a few new stakes in it. Leliana called her attention to a few more clerical uproars in Orlais, to which Irasae told her to deal with silently.

_You withhold the truth of what happened that day._

She moved on to a request from Sera, one of the newest in the Inquisition’s roster. Of the few reasons Irasae had used to excuse the elf’s lack of common sense was that her shot never missed. Where many saw silliness and buffoonery, Irasae recognized Sera’s smarts.

One didn’t have to be smart socially to kill well.

Vivienne, who killed with her cunning, directly opposed Sera in that regard. The Game was fought with words as sharp as steel, that much she knew. Her talent as a mage and as a player of Orlais’ fashionable pastime was considerable.

She felt neither was more interesting than the other. She had seen both perform excellently on the field, respond quickly and without hesitation to threats.

Sera seemed to prefer fart jokes when Vivienne was around. That was just plain funny.

“We have significant influence in the Hinterlands and on the Coast. However, we still need to win the trust of the mages in Redcliffe,” began Leliana.

“Or that of the Templars serving Lord Seeker Lucius. Their strength is not to be underestimated,” interjected Cullen. Leliana frowned at him, holding the Commander’s gaze with a flash of ire.

“The Breach is a magical problem, so we have discerned. Why then should the Order claim more expertise?”

“They could subdue it. For all we know, magic could aggravate it and make the problem worse.”

“Speculation, not fact, Commander,” she ground out.

“If these mages have lived in Circles most of their lives, passing their ‘Harrowings’, training to resist demons, then they are worth pursuing,” said Irasae. “You’ve put your trust into an apostate who has lived most of her life as one. I’m telling you to give them some of that trust.”

“I see, Herald,” he said, looking rather displeased.

“Good. Josephine, have the missives from Shokrakar come in yet?” she asked.

“This morning, your Worship.” The diplomat handed her the scroll. Irasae tore the seal quickly, her hands fumbling to unwrap the parchment.

_Adaar,_

_I heard you were dead, and then made prisoner, and that you fell out of the fucking Fade and landed on your head and forgot who you were._

_I hope to hell that it’s just bas-vashedan.You’d better still be alive because we haven’t been paid._

_(Honestly, you’re a mage who has been in the dream place plenty of times. Should I be worried or?)_

_Some of the kith made it out of that giant shit hole of demons after the explosion. The rest are dead or missing. I don’t know how many were rounded up by angry humans. If you’re not dead and you remember who you are, help me find our brothers and sisters._

_Ataas shokra,_

_Shokrakar_

_P.S.: If you’ve forgotten who you are, I’ll remind you. Your name is Irasae Adaar. You’re a proud vashoth. You’re also magical, and you didn’t get paid for being blown up,_

_P.P.S.: If you’re dead, disregard this message._

“ _Vashedan_ ,” Irasae swore.

“What did your Captain say?” asked Josephine.

“The Valo-kas who survived the Conclave were captured. I want to know who, where, and when we can rescue them.”

“We can supply soldiers to break them out of confinement, provided we have the locations.” Cullen looked to Leliana.

“My people have collected information on several nobles. With a little more time, I will know exactly who the captors are,” she said.

“How long?” asked Irasae.

“A few days. I recommend stealth for this mission, Adaar. It would be better to use these individuals to our advantage instead of causing more controversy.”

“What would the Inquisition look like, escorting tal-vashoth out of noble hands?” snapped Irasae, her voice rising. “ I understand what you call ‘controversy’ in Orlais. Existing. I don’t care what you decide with the nobles. Just get rid of them so we can get my kith out of there.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. Her yells echoed off the stone walls. Irasae felt the anger boil in her stomach. She was glad to feel it, to feel something strong again. Anger would ground her while these humans would nod and speak without understanding.

Josephine cleared her throat.

“Which method would you have done?” she asked.

“Send scouts and agents to remove them from the place. Have soldiers on standby if anything goes wrong,” said Irasae, none too quickly.

“I will send Charter and Thrask to head the investigation at once,” said the Spymaster.

“Our men will be ready, your Worship,” said Cullen.

“Adaar,” said Irasae half-heartedly.

“Of course, Adaar.”

* * *

 

Not a second after she exited the Chantry, there was someone trying to get her attention. Thankfully, the man was not of the loitering sort that had arrived in Haven since the Conclave. 

“Lieutenant Cremisius Aclassi of the Bull’s Chargers. I’ve had a hard time of getting a hold of anyone since I arrived,” he said.

“How long have you been waiting?” asked Irasae.

“A while, but I’m no complainer. Your people seem very busy as it is,” he said. “I’ve come with an offer of free information from my captain, the Iron Bull.”She nodded for him to continue.

“There’ve been reports of Tevinter activity on the Storm Coast. More mages then soldiers, figured the Inquisition would be interested in investigating it. Our men will be flushing them out. It’s a good opportunity to watch us work, to see if your people are interested in hiring,” said the Lieutenant.

“How do you know I’m the right person to talk to about hiring?” she asked.

“My captain said a tal-vashoth mage made it out alive. Not many of those in Haven aside from you, I’d reckon,” he replied.

“And you’re experienced, from what we’ve heard of the Valo-kas.”He continued, “You’d know that talk is cheap in the face of the real thing, being out on the field.”

Irasae felt the fear sit in her stomach, poking its claws into her. The one that made it out alive.

“What can you tell me about this ‘Iron Bull’?” she asked.

“He’s qunari, like you, horns and all that. Better than most human commanders I’ve had the pleasure of working for,” said Aclassi.

Another tal-vashoth. At least there were some small mercies left in the world.

“I look forward to meeting your company, Lieutenant.” This time she was the one who offered a hand. Aclassi pulled off his glove and shook firmly.

Irasae started toward the smithy, a few incessant thoughts buzzing in her mind. There was the stave schematic she needed to craft, and the expression the Lieutenant’s had made when the mark touched his bare skin.


	6. V. Melancholy and the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chargers get hired, Irasae feels more at home for the first time in a long while, aaaand more game dialogue.
> 
> Trigger warnings: blood, npc death, melancholy

Irasae’s fondest memory was of the ocean on the coast of Wycome. Oria had dragged her down to the beach, her hand tightly gripping Irasae’s as they ran across the rocky shore barefoot. It had hurt at first, but her feet had grown thick with callouses as time had passed. Her baby sister would run into the waves, fearless in the face of the tides. 

Her home shore had a bright sunny sky. The Storm Coast’s was grey. It lived up to its name, as the sky seemed to stir like a storm was coming at any moment.

The salty tang in the air was thin, the crisp mountain breeze mingling with it.

“You hear that?” said Sera. “There’s a fight somewhere close.”

“On the beach?” Irasae asked. Scout Harding nodded.

“There were a few tevinter scouts that we caught close to camp.Maybe these ‘Chargers’ have already caught up with them?”

“We’ll check it out. Is everyone armed?” asked Irasae. Sera clucked her tongue. Blackwall gave an affirmed ‘yes’, and Vivienne sighed as the elf gave a pointed glare in her direction.

With that, they went down to the shore. As Irasae rounded the corner, she saw the Iron Bull. He was the easiest to spot and the one holding the largest axe on the field.

She caught his eye for a moment and raised her staff.

“Take the vints down!” she yelled.

Blackwall rushed in with his shield, bashing into a solider with a serrated blade. Vivienne took up a position on Irasae’s right. A massive wave of ice took out three enemies at once.

She thought she saw a man go down with arrows in the groin, but it happened fast. Sera.

She got close to a Vint with a pair of curved blades and pushed lightening through his ribs. He gurgled as she pulled the blade from the staff’s end out. Irasae leapt over him and froze another.

“Don’t let any retreat! Clean them out!” roared Iron Bull. Six kills later, Irasae backed a maul wielder against a mage. She dispelled the spirit spell they attempted to cast., which gave the merc an opening. He swept the vint off his feet. The dog-headed maul slammed against his skull with a crunch.

“All clear!” called Blackwall.

“Nice work,” the merc said. He took off his helmet, revealing the Lieutenant she’d met right after returning from Val Royeaux. Aclassi, she remembered.

“Same for you, serrah,” replied Irasae. She gestured to the vint bleeding out from their skull on the pebbled ground. “Very nice.”

He smirked.

“Krem! How’d we do?” called Iron Bull. Krem passed her and walked down to his captain.

“Five or six wounded chief. No dead,” he said. His captain grinned.

“That’s what I like to hear. Let the throat-cutters finish up then break out the casks.”

Krem nodded and went to see it done. Iron Bull turned to Irasae. Blood dripped from the end of her staff onto her boots.

The man burst out laughing.

“Hot damn, it’s true! Oh, the Chantry must love you,” he said.

“No more than I love them,” said Irasae. It felt good to say. She couldn’t find it in herself to care what her companions might think of that.

“A tal’vashoth mage, the Herald of Andraste? Who would’ve thought, huh?” the Iron Bull smiled. His gaze glanced over her. Blood covered her from breastplate to the soles of her shoes. Was he sizing her up?

“Vashoth mercenary, and it really depends on who you ask.” She corrected.“I can tell you’re running a good operation out here.”

“We do more than get by,” he said. “The boys make sure of that.” Iron Bull gestured to out towards Krem, who returned to them.

“I assume you remember my Lieutenant, Cremisius Aclassi?”

“Of course,” said Irasae.

“It’s good to see you again. Throat-cutters are done, Chief,” said Krem.

“Already? Have ‘em check again. We don’t want any of those tevinter bastards getting away. No offence, Krem,” said the Chief.

“None taken. At least a bastard knew who his mother was. Puts him one up on you qunari, right?” quipped Krem. Vashedan, his mouth was fast. Vints were stereotyped to have all silver weapons in battle. From the sound of it, Krem’s seemed to be his tongue.

She arranged the deal with Bull, who seemed more than eager to put himself in front of demons and dragons. Irasae wasn’t too keen on taking on the latter for sport.

Dragons were Oria’s fascination, not hers. 

Her sister would’ve jumped at the chance to talk to an actual Qunari. The fact that he seemed adamant about fighting the giant lizard menaces would earn her trust just as easily.

Then he told her that he was Ben-Hassrath.

“Why would you tell me that?” she asked. “I’m a mage, and you just told me like it was no big deal?”

“It’s better that you hear it upfront. With that Spymaster of yours, I would’ve been tipped sooner or later. Red is thorough with the background checks, I hear,” said Bull.

“Red?” she asked. He shrugged.

“I’ve always had a weakness for redheads.”

“I see.”

“So, what are you thinking?” asked Bull. Irasae rubbed her nose with her least bloodied glove.

“You receive reports, right? And you send them.” Bull nodded. “As long as everything goes through Leliana, and I mean everything, we’re clear. I don’t like lukewarm people. One step out of line, and it’s over. That fair?” asked Irasae.

“Fair.”

“Welcome to the Inquisition, Iron Bull,” she conceded. Bull grinned again, then started yelling for Krem to close the casks.

“Make up your mind, Chief! How am I supposed to repair splintered barrels, blood magic?”

“You’re tevinter, aren’t you?” Bull quipped back. Krem scowled.

“I think I’ll steal some swill before the ritual, if that’s all right,” said Irasae.

“Be my guest,” said Krem. He had dried blood just under his eye, though from the look of his helmet it probably wasn’t his.

Irasae took a crude mug out from her pack and filled it. Another Charger, Rocky, took another swig and silently clinked his cup to hers.

“To the new contract,” he said. Irasae downed half the mug and gasped from the burn of it down her throat. Not bad for average swill.

“Finally, someone who speaks my language,” she crowed.

Katoh would’ve liked Bull too. Qunari didn’t offend her like it did Sata-kas or Shokrakar. A small pang of melancholy pricked at her gut. Irasae ignored it in favour of another drink.

_Please be alive._

She reached the bottom and poured herself another, raising the mug to the sky.

_To the Valo-kas. To my brothers and sisters._

Irasae tried to swallowed her griefbefore joining her new companions in packing up. They killed enough to safely make their way up the steep mountains where the Grey Warden camps were said to be.


	7. VI. Dragon Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nano is handing my ass to me. It was such a relief to come back and post another chapter!
> 
> TW: Blood, dragon death, dragonling death

Their well-worn camp in Dusklight was barely settled in when a great animal screamed.

“Boss,” Bull called. “That sounds like you should check it out.”

Irasae didn’t miss the hopeful look in his eye. She felt the dread crawl into her stomach and brood. That sound was dragon-like. Any of lizard kind was on her list of creatures that she didn’t provoke, especially not for the purpose of ‘fun’.

“Ser, I have word from Messere Tethras,” an agent approached with several letters. “According to his and local reports, there may be a large a concentration of red lyrium in the area. Whatever creature there may have been affected by it. 

“All the more reason to go in and clean the red stuff out. If not the dragon then at least the lyrium,” said Blackwall. 

“We don’t know if it’s a dragon yet,” Irasae said testily. Bull gave her a one-eyed look.

“You have a problem with big fire-throwers, Adaar?” He asked. She snorted.

“Why do you think I hired you?” The Iron Bull grinned, patting his axe on the flat side.

“To hit big things, boss.”

Sera sniggered at that. She was too busy cleaning blood from her cuffs to properly mock the Vashoth’s face, which was fixed in a ‘sighing look’. Apparently she made that face a lot.

“Wait, how big is that lizard? Like a huge dragon size, but how big is that?” Sera wondered aloud. Irasae groaned. She wasn’t left with much choice other than engaging the beast. Which was hopefully **not** a dragon.

The passage opened to a wet marshy area surrounded by partially carved mountains. It would be more appropriate to say they were in an open sky cave.

An open sky cave with a High Dragon perched atop the centre structure, clutching to the edges as it twisted its body side to side. Irasae felt her stomach drop into the water.

“Just look at her!” Bull breathed.

“I am,” said Irasae. The dragon looked like a mabari trying to shake a flea. It screeched, a large claw raking over it’s scaled head. It looked foolish, not majestic.

A figure darted along the dragon’s spiny back. Suddenly a blast of black powder burst open around it’s head, blinding the beast.

“Holy shite, they’re dancing on her back!” exclaimed Sera. 

The dragon teetered, squealing as it lost balance. The rogue reached behind and pulled a large knife. With the other hand they threw another bomb, this time it was a sort of bluish gas. The beast’s eyes drooped.

With a final heave, the dragon fell. Irasae saw a flash of silver. The rogue sat atop the head, their long dagger poised, ready to strike.

 They noticed her party then. The mask was pulled from their face and she gave Irasae the widest smile she could manage.

 “You’re back,” said Oria cheerfully, slitting the dragon’s throat. The dragon gurgled, sinking further to the ground as blood poured from the wound. It twitched and groaned feebly before finally dying under Oria’s gleaming daggers.

 “Weren’t you supposed to be in Orlais with Taarlok?” asked Irasae. The answer didn’t really matter so much as the relief coursing through her.

 “That would’ve been over two months ago. More than a dragon has gone down since then.” She placed a hand on the dragon’s horn, moving across the head to the beast’s gaping jaws.

 “You, uh, know the pretty lady, Herald?” asked Sera.

 “She does. Oria Herah of the Valo-kas,” said the dragon slayer. She took her dagger and cut off a section of gum. A large tooth was pried from its root then placed in a small sack. Oria kept cutting until half a dozen teeth were missing.

 “Tal-Vashoth,” muttered Bull. Oria looked over her shoulder, blinked owlishly at the qunari. Bull had disappointment written all over him.

 “He wanted to kill it,” said Irasae, gesturing to the carcass. “Slowly.”

 “Ah,” Oria nodded. “Well, I did observe her for a few days beforehand. Very odd nesting patterns, almost non-existent sleep cycles, even pacing in circles, she wasn’t acting normally in any sense. One of the nearby villages wanted her gone, so I tracked her down here.”

 “You study Dragons?” asked Blackwall. Oria nodded enthusiastically, her tightly curled hair bobbing up and down.

 “Drakes, deepstalkers and wyverns too. Dead or alive, scales or eggs.”

 “I think you and I will get along fine,” said the Bull, recovering quickly to a broad grin.

 “Woof,” said Sera suddenly. Oria raised an eyebrow, and for the first time, Irasae saw the elf blush.

 “So, you’re with the Inquisition now? I don’t think I understand,” she said.

 “Yes. Look,” Irasae pulled off her glove. Her marked palm glittered in the sunlight.

 Oria shed her own bloodstained gloves and held her sister’s hand tentatively. Her brow furrowed, long fingers tracing around the mark. Irasae leaned into Oria as she was wrapped in a sudden hug.

 “I was so worried,” she whispered. Irasae could only sigh.

 “I’m sorry,” she said. She saw her companions’ surprised stares. Irasae turned her gaze to Oria’s moist eyes and smiled.

 “I hope you are,” Oria sniffled. “Mom nearly burned the house down when she found out.”

 “She would’ve,” said Irasae. Oria pulled a plaidweave handkerchief from one of her many pockets to wipe her eyes.

 “Are you ‘The Herald of Andraste’? The villagers and refugees kept calling for the ‘one with the mark of the Fade’. Sae, I don’t understand.”

 “What of the red lyrium, Adaar?” asked Blackwall. Irasae sighed.

 “Have you seen any red crystal structures out here?” she asked gently. Her sister nodded.

 “It’s farther back that way,” Oria pointed. “Her nest was down there. The dragonlings were crying for her but she never came to feed them.”

 “Great. Let’s clean it up,” said Irasae. “You coming?”

 Her sister hiccupped, her hand going to the hilted dagger. She moved in silently on Irasae’s right, matching her long strides as they closed in on the red stuff.

 “I’m coming.” Then, in a low whisper, "Explain later?" Irasae nodded, giving her sister's hand a squeeze.

 The nest was filled with old blood. Two dragonlings lay dead, a third charged at them as they approached. Bull intercepted it and lopped its head off mid screech.

 “Found it!” cried Sera. The large structure of lyrium loomed over them. It was fast growing according to the reports, a non-biotic vermin.

 “Hitting time!” roared Bull, bringing down his axe on a fault. Irasae cast ice then fire to make the surface brittle. Blackwall’s blade came down and made a crack large enough for Sera’s arrows to lodge into.

 It took a long time to sufficiently cut down every large piece from the stone wall. Once it had crumbled, they stood back as Irasae summoned the elements to make it cold, hot, then to smash. Every step of the process made the shards smaller and smaller, until it was safe enough to risk clean up by the Inquisition soldiers.

 “Damn done,” spat Sera, “Weird red creepy shit.” Oria laughed, her voice echoing.

 “It’s damn done all right,” said Irasae. She heated the end of her borrowed stave and swept it across the ground, circling the remains once more.

 “We’re good to go, Boss,” called Bull.

 “Do you need time to scavenge anything?” she asked Oria. The rogue shook her head.

 “I’ve got what I came for.” She offered another smile. “I get to travel with you again. I’m more than satisfied.”

 For the first time in months, Irasae found it was easier to smile back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. VII. Her sister's teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oria's point of view. No trigger warnings for this chapter.

Oria found herself in awe of the little village in the midst of Ferelden’s coldest winter. Animals here were likely in hibernation, aside from the favourite mabari. She’d found that if you became friendly enough with the owner, you could scratch it behind the ears with all of your fingers whole.

Her time in Orlais had made it harder to adapt to the cold. It was never a bitter feeling, just lingering. Oria didn’t mind it much. She slightly envied Irasae, who could call her magic to keep her body temperature up and to light hearths. It was hardly a thought now that she was toasty in front of the fire in her sister’s cabin.

She couldn’t remember the last time they’d bunked together with such clean sheets and fluffy pillows. Deserved luxuries, to be sure!

 “Is that dwarf the author of that book? I think Katoh was reading it,” she remarked. Irasae stood by the window, letting the smoke curl white as it slipped outside.

 “He is. He’s also a smartass who baits the Seeker,” replied her sister. Something about the way she spoke sounded fatigued, or drained.

 “She’s okay. They already found Kaaras , Karriss and Sata-kas. Even Ashaad One came out fine. And Katoh’s such a toughie, I bet those stupid nobles haven’t found a way to-”

 “ _Parshaara_ ,” Irasae cut her off. “You don’t need to reassure me. I know.”

 “You’re worrying. It helps to have someone talk you through it,” said Oria.

 “It helps to have you not talk like we’re discussing something trivial. Katoh isn’t in her prime anymore. And these are human nobles, some of the Orlesian. That’s why I’m worrying!”

 Oria took a few fingers and stuffed them into her mouth. She’d recognized her own mistake. Her hand was closer than her foot. Irasae looked on and sighed another puff of smoke.

 “I’m sorry. I just wanted to help,” she mumbled.

 “I know. But there is nothing we can do right now,” said Irasae.

 “That’s why I came, to help you. I want to be useful,” Oria wrapped the blanket tighter around her exposed shoulders.

She could smell the scent of Irasae’s pipe, the warmth of it reminding her of home. That was the selfish part of her reason to follow her sister to Ferelden. If Oria stayed close, she would be home no matter if they crossed the Waking Sea a dozen times or if they were caught in the middle of an Orlesian hunting ground in the dead of summer (a story for a happier time, including alcohol). It was her best-known secret.

 Loath though her sister was to admit it, she was starving for familiarity. The dirty tavern sheets had been yanked out from under her and a hot poker had branded her hand with a magical thing that no one could explain. Then, she was forced into a cell, addressed (and therefore insulted) improperly because of human assumptions, was forced to close the biggest tear in ‘the veil’ that had ever existed, and finally, she was trapped between some bloodthirsty humans and a hard place. That’s why she’d agreed to help the Inquisition.

 Most of the Valo-kas couldn’t handle Shokrakar’s ever-changing hairstyles, much less that.

 “You are.” Irasae came and sat beside her, brushing up against her side. “You’re the most helpful.” Her head leant on Oria’s shoulder.

 “Good,” said Oria. She was so warm, no wonder she’d had fewer layers under her armour out there. Safety was this warm, she decided.

 They sat quietly for a long while, watching the flames crackle.

 “The scouts are due back at dawn,” said Irasae softly.

 “I’ll stay up and watch for them. You should sleep.”

 “If I get into bed, sure.” Irasae said.

 “You will go to sleep eventually,” Oria lightly poked her sister in the side “ In an hour, promise me?” she pressed harder.

 “An hour. Then _you_ will wake me up,” Irasae conceded. What an easy victory. She was more tired than Oria had thought.

 “Then get into those clean sheets, Sae,” she chided lightly. “Git.”

 “I’m gittin’, ” Irasae groaned. She thought she saw a small, tired smile. Good. There was an ill concealed yawn too, which was all the better.

 Oria put more kindling into the dying fire, and then checked that Irasae was tucked in. She circled the bed, pressing the blanket under exposed legs and toes. Her sister’s eyes were slits, kept open only because of Oria’s swift movements.

“One,” came the sleepy reminder.

* * *

 

She wasn’t sly, as most rogues were, but Oria let her sister sleep longer than an hour. She wasn’t fond of deceiving her sleep deprived Sae, who grew angrier instead of tiring when she stayed awake for too long.

She saw a retinue of soldiers headed for the Chantry. Amongst them, a tall figure walked proudly forward.

“ _Katoh_ ,” said Irasae. Oria twitched violently and whipped her head back. Her sister was still asleep, her mouth mumbling more incoherent words.

She slipped out of the cabin with a thought to quietly close the door. Her bare feet flew across the snow, the cold burning like the sun touched stones of the Exalted Plains. Oria caught the door behind the group, clinging to the rear with all the silence she could muster.

Even if she behaved like a shadow, Katoh could sometimes sense it. Thankfully, from where she could see, the Tal-Vashoth was conversing with one of the scouts.

The hooded woman waited at the back door. Lily, or something along those lines (Irasae called her Spymaster, Bull affectionately labeling her ‘Red’), was a dangerous woman. In describing the advisor, Irasae sounded suspicious. That was counting the fact that she had spoken of recent events with the same bitterness. On a good day, Oria could count on Irasae helping her scout beautiful women with her. Sae would even hum and nod or suggest a feature that Oria might have missed, like an inflection of voice or the accent.

The Spymaster had fine features, the violet of her cloak cooling the colour of her warm hair. She was both a beautiful and dangerous woman.

 Since her sister was to be believed, there were two more women to be seen, the Diplomat and the Seeker. Sae had grumbled to avoid the latter, if at all possible.

The Commander preferred his old order, despite their recent abandonment of Val-Royeaux. Otherwise, he was more than a decent captain, a little crosser than Shokrakar, and one working with a rapidly growing force. She hadn’t seen hide or hair of him. Oria would’ve noticed the lion’s mane like she had the first time she crossed into Haven. What wonderful warmth it must have brought him in that plate armour. Oria could use some of that fuzziness.

 Her shadow encroached on Katoh as she slipped through the men. Those dark sclerae caught her, the blue irises brighter than the high-noon sky. Oria reached into her pockets and pulled out the bag of dragon teeth and offered it. A thin hand took it, Katoh’s smiling eyes watching her, like always.

 


	9. VIII. Frustration and Meditation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irasae and the Valo-kas reunite. 
> 
> Ataas varin kata: In the end lies glory.
> 
> Ataas shokra: glorious struggle
> 
> Kadan (if you didn't already know): heart/friend/the centre of the chest

Irasae nearly fell out of bed when she heard the commotion outside. She stumbled into her gloves and boots, running outside towards the Chantry.

“Adaar!” Kaaras smiled, looking absolutely filthy yet happy. Sata-kas, ever grumpy, only grunted when she saw her. Ashaad one had a wicked cut above his left eye, which looked like it had been partially healed.

 “She’s in there,” muttered Sata-kas, her thumb jabbed in the direction of the war room. Irasae sighed in relief.

 Cassandra, Cullen, Leliana and Josephine stood behind the table, her teacher leaning over the map.

 “ _Ataash varin kata,_ ” Irasae recited. Katoh turned, her face solemn.

 “ _Ataas shokra_ ,” replied Katoh. She embraced her teacher fiercely.

 “The others met you outside?” asked Josephine, her eyes wide. Irasae nodded, reluctantly releasing Katoh. Her hand found itself freed from its glove, Katoh examining it with close eyes.

 “This is the same as the hole in the sky. How did this happen?” she asked.

 “I fell on my head when I fell out of the Fade. I can’t remember that far back,” Irasae said lamely. “Believe me when I say that I wish some of this mess made sense.”

 “The nobles have been taken care of, Herald,” said Leliana. “You won’t have to worry yourselves about them any longer.” Her eyes were drawn to Katoh’s. They were still vibrantly blue against the black surrounding them. It was only by the gaunt in her cheeks that Irasae could tell she’d been captured and mistreated.

 “Shokrakar should be told soon,” said Irasae. Josephine nodded and began to write a draft on her pad.

 “We have no need to rush. The others are tired, hungry,” said Katoh. “If your people could accommodate us-“

 “ _You_ are my people, and there will be room for you here,” interjected Irasae.

 “We’ll see that it’s done, Heral-Adaar,” Cullen corrected himself. “I’ll make sure our people know that the Valo-kas are guests of the Inquisition and not to be disturbed.”

 “Thank you, Ser,” said Katoh, smiling tiredly. “We will rest among friends tonight.”

* * *

 

Katoh hummed under her breath as she meditated. Irasae sat beside her, instead sighing into her exhale as she minded her breathing. She’d asked Oria not to disturb them the night before. It had been many weeks since they were last together. It had been even longer since they had sat together in meditation.

 Practising mindfulness was challenging after the course of recent events. Irasae’s mind kept running back to the Mark and the disasterous outing in in Val Royeaux.

 “Kadan,” whispered Katoh, “You’re resisting.”

 Her teacher came behind her and pressed her hands into Irasae’s shoulders. The muscles were surprisingly tense, resisting against the force of Katoh’s touch. Irasae exhaled for as long as she could.

 “It has been done. Nothing could have been done to save the congregation or our brothers and sisters. You have survived.”

 “With no memory, for no reason. Branded by the Fade, imprisoned by the most dangerous Andrastians in the South,” said Irasae bitterly.

 “You do not speak of them as you would dangerous animals. You guard yourself yet you still confer with them. I would say you have a bit of trust in those Andrastians.”

 “You would say that, but it’s tolerance. I can tolerate the Hands, I can tolerate the Mark-”

 “But only for so long, Kadan, if your temper is any indication.”

 “My temper has held when the sky has torn, thank you very much,” Irasae retorted. She tried to stretch her spine to it’s furthest and inhaled.

 “They are guarded around you as well, Adaar. Remember that.”

 “Trust cannot exist without time. It has been only a month and a few weeks.”

 “You may not have the luxury of time. If the war is to continue then you must take advantage of your position.”

 “I am not the Herald of Andraste,” said Irasae.

 “You are the Herald of the Inquisition, of apostate mages and of Qunari Tal-Vashoth to some. Claim what is true, abandon what is not. You cannot bend to human expectations because it is impossible.”

 “I need a smoke,” Irasae stood suddenly and started to rummage through her cloak pockets. She lit the tobacco inside the pipe an inhaled, letting the warmth flood through her.

 “I am sorry, Kadan.”

 “Huh?” Katoh smiled sadly.

 “I chastise you for such a thing as trust. You are right, it should not be easily given. Not in these desperate times,” she said.

 “You’re my teacher. You’re the one who is supposed to give me advise when I don’t want it,” said Irasae. Katoh laughed.

 “And you’re the troublesome student who speaks her mind in all things. I am glad that much has not changed,” she said.

 “Sometimes I feel like this isn’t happening. Not to me. I keep waiting for the Herald of Andraste to show up and take the mantle from me,” she said.

 “The human herald. Of course, why would such a world shaking thing happen to a Vashoth mage?” Katoh looked at her, eyes hard as ice. “All of them will come to accept the truth, Adaar. You are the Herald. What you are the Herald of is your prerogative.”

 “My prerogative. You believe they will follow?” asked Irasae.

 “Yes they will, for their own motivations. That is why it is your hand that they must follow. If those motives double-cross yours..”

 “I must be dreaming. My peace-loving teacher is willingly suggesting murder?” Irasae said dryly. Katoh gave her a blank stare.

 “Oh. Kadan, I meant that you could use the Inquisition to deal with them. No, I would never suggest-“

 “Relax, Katoh,” Irasae chuckled. “I know you’re too kind for your own good.”Her teacher sighed and brought her hands to her heart centre.

 “We have become very distracted from our practise. I’m going to finish with my exhalations,” she said.

 “Thank you for the advice,” said Irasae. “I’m being waved down by a scout through the window, I don’t think I’ll be joining you.”

 “Be nice,” replied Katoh. Irasae smirked back.

 “I’m always nice.”

* * *

 

After another meeting in the Chantry, Irasae was back to wandering the Hinterlands to clear out apostates and templars. The work had become so methodical it was non-threatening. The fact that in her younger years she had feared the Order almost made the killing comical. They were bastards, all of them. Those who turned their backs on their own were no better than animals.

 “Your precision is remarkable,” said Solas. He was referring to her offensive fighting style . She tended to lean towards using her stave as a weapon first, then using it to cast. Irasae preferred to incapacitate her opponents quickly. She aimed for the back of the head, the chest, the underside of the knees.

 The less magic she had to use, the better.

 “I’ve had more than a few years of practise,” said Irasae nonchalantly.

 “It is rare to encounter an apostate so detached from recent events, especially one who has control over their powers,” said Cassandra.

 “There are few Vashoth mages outside the Qun. But my family had contacts with Katoh, so there was no real reason to prevent me from becoming an apostate. Training outside Chantry influence also allowed more exploration with magic,” replied Irasae.

 “Techniques the Circle likely would not tolerate, in any case,” said Solas.

 “Most circle mages are only taught how to control their magic and how to defend themselves from demons,” said Varric, “Friend of mine was always griping about not having proper training in offensive spells.” His voice tapered off as the Seeker gave him a hard look.

 “Would this friend of yours happen to be-“

 “No. If you’ve actually read my books, Cassandra, you’d know that Hawke was a rogue,” he supplied quickly.

 “I’ve heard some call him a warrior, too. A berserker who would pop his lid at the slightest provocation,” said Irasae.

 “Have you read ‘The Tale of the Champion’?” asked Cassandra.

 “Name a Marcher who hasn’t. Kirkwall wasn’t a secret to anyone, especially not in its own country. Deceptive, yes, but not ingenious.”

 “Thought I’d heard a flicker of an accent on you, Herald. Whereabouts are you from?” asked Varric.

 “Wycome,” she replied. It had been a long time since she'd called it home.

 The conversation soon died when they came across a decent place to camp. It was at the lee of a hill in Hafter’s Woods. Irasae took up the task of securing wards at the entrances. As she did so she lit her pipe to make the scent of blood dim. She was covered in it.

 She blew rings of smoke into the air. Her body began to relax after hours of fighting and killing. If she focused just so, Irasae could pretend that it was the Valo-kas camp behind her. For a few minutes, she allowed herself to drift into thought.

 Irasae thought of Oria, who chose to remain in Haven with Katoh while the rest of her kith departed for Orlais. She’d never been so glad to have a sibling obsessed with dragons than she was presently. That connection reunited them in a place where Irasae had been alone with near strangers in a foreign land.

 The stranger even followed her around, engraved into her palm. Irasae hadn’t spent too much time examining the Mark. Unnecessary reflection on it always managed to twist her emotions towards frustration and anger.

Even beneath her gloves, if she pressed her palms together she could feel the hum of magic.

 She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. Magic had always been easy to understand. The elements came to her in varying degrees of strength. Fire and lightening were simple to conjure and good for direct attacks. Ice was more difficult. It required more focus.

 Spirit magic was her weak link. Irasae could heal shallow wounds but with too much mana, nor could she summon a barrier for longer than a few minutes. Perhaps the Mark’s magic was similar to that of spirit? Was that why it was beyond her understanding? Was that why the only purpose she could assign to it was to seal the rifts?

 “Adaar?” Solas called.

 “Solas.”

 “Is it the Mark?” he asked.

 “No. Not really.”

 “Good. My concern was that it had flared again unexpectedly.”

 “Did it do something when I was unconscious, back in the Chantry?” They had chained her to the ground out of fear of it, of her, of her magic. The stone floor had made her bones ache for days afterward, the damp cold of Haven remaining in her limbs as the hours passed.

 “At the time, its behaviour was due to the fluctuations of the Breach. When it was open the Mark echoed it and that caused severe distress in your body. This is similar to when one is deep within a nightmare,” replied Solas.

 “Makes more sense than the explanation I was trying to come up with. Ma serannas,” she thanked him.

 “You know the tongue?”

 “I grew up in the alienage. I know what people there know, shem, hahren and the like.”

 “I see,” he said. “Your wards will hold for the night, I assume. And then we head to Redcliffe.”

 “Any objections? I’m not completely married to the course of action just yet,” said Irasae. A small smile appeared on his face.

 “The only thing we lack are herbs, and those can be found in plenty here. You have done well for the Inquisition so far,” said Solas.

 “So far,” agreed Irasae. Solas nodded, then walked back into camp. She watched him go, noting the way he held his shoulders stiff. It was like he was bracing himself for conversation’s sake. Was he intimidated by her?

 She was not the only one of her group who noticed Solas’ peculiarities. Cassandra, of course, gave her opinion readily.

 “He does much and reveals little. When he first came to us, he surrendered his staff without question. He asked to see you, if only to study the Mark and the Breach.”

 “Didn’t you find his arrival timely, Seeker?” Varric piped in, “Suddenly in the distance, a philosophical elven mage, come to unlock the secrets of the Fade?”

 “You were writing fiction late into the night, weren’t you?” accused Cassandra. Varric snorted.

 “With all the shit that’s happened in the past month, it’s hard to write anything but non-fiction. Getting the truth down on paper counts,” he said.

 “Ha, it only matters when you are the one twisting it, dwarf,” she countered.

 “And would I be half as successful in my business ventures if I didn’t? You take a quill to record the things you’ve seen in your ‘reports’. Who cares if it’s a half-truth? It may not be whole, but it is still yours.”

 Cassandra growled in frustration, her hand running through her short hair.

 “I was stating what I thought about you. That doesn’t mean I want to debate what constitutes as truth with you.”

 “Aren’t I glad to hear it,” said Irasae. “Is there anything more you can tell me about him?”

 “I think I am the wrong one to ask about details, Adaar. Leliana knows a frightening amount of information about everyone,” replied the Seeker.

 Irasae slipped into her tent as soon as her two companions resumed their bickering. The copious amount of arguing between the Hand and the Dwarf started to wear on her quickly. Her tolerance was excellent at the moment, but it brought back her teacher’s question. How long could she hold out being among them?


	10. IX. Impatience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krem's POV! I missed his sass, so I hope I delivered his lines properly. (Note: This takes place directly after Melancholy and the Sea)
> 
> Trigger warnings: blood, beheading, npc death

The Inquisition was clearly a fledgling organization. Krem had entered into many different organizations-formal and informal- during his years serving as Lieutenant for the Chargers. Job after job he began to understand the trade and come accept contracts with certain expectations of good pay, good terms of contract, good boss.

 Right out of the gate, there was excellent pay, the contract was solid and had good compensation for serious injuries or deaths. The Inquisition’s leadership dynamic was interesting, if not a collection of powerful players. Her Herald was at the forefront on the field, the Spymaster of reconnaissance, the Commander of her soldiers and the Ambassador of everyone else. An evenly balanced team, yet there was no Inquisitor.

 The one Krem could attest to having a leader’s presence was the Herald, and by the Maker was Adaar stalwart. She borrowed half the Charger’s force to stay behind to scout the Coast for Grey Warden camps.

Bull went straight from the beach towards Haven with the other half on orders to reveal himself to the Spymaster. It was a ballsy move, sending a Qunari spy directly into the heart of the Inquisition. But what was one Qunari against an invasion to conquer the Breach, if the Chief’s musings were right?

Since he was gone, it fell to Krem to oversee the Chargers beneath the Herald. She was the same Tal-Vashoth he’d encountered in Haven. A surprise, but one he didn’t give a second thought to. If the Chief had taught him anything-aside from how to hold against a battering shield-was that the people best suited for the job were the ones who made the hard choices.

 “According to Scout Harding, there are several areas where the Wardens have been sighted. I’d like for each group to search for camps, bedrolls, documents, bottles, or anything with a griffon on it-“

 “Hang on. What the hell are we looking for swill for? Any of these rebels and apostates could’ a left them behind,” asked an archer named Sera.

 “True, but if the product is local, there’s a chance the merchant who sold it would know names,” said Krem.

 “-Also, if there’s any swill left, you’re free to it,” finished Adaar.

 “Better and better,” said Rocky.

 “So find the camps, I assume documents are of the highest priority? What were you thinking for the groups?”

 “Three teams, one for each location. I want this done as thoroughly and efficiently as possible.”

 Then, she warned them of the bears. Krem already knew the area was infested with the aggressive beasts, but the way Adaar explained it made it seem like they were dragons instead.

 “If they engage, which some will, kill the furry bastards quickly. They’ll gang up on you if you’re too slow.” She grimaced, as if the statement would summon the beasts.

 The search commenced. Krem took Dalish, a warden named Blackwall, and Rocky. Skinner, Grim, and Sera banded together, and the Herald took Stitches and the Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast.

 The warden himself a man had little to no information about his people’s activities. He claimed to have wandered Ferelden alone, recruiting and solving problems to help refugees and free holders. Blackwall had sharp eyes, detecting the aforementioned bears along with small caverns and crawl spaces etched into the mountainside. Krem put him at the front alongside him after the first skirmish with uniformed footpads.

“How long have you been with the Inquisition?” he asked, cutting a frayed cord from the makeshift barrack’s beam. The warden flag fluttered into Blackwall’s waiting hands.

 “The Herald sought me out in the Hinterlands just a few weeks after the sky burst its seams. Almost as if she knew exactly where to find me, though with all those spies under the Left Hand’s thumb, should I have been surprised?” Blackwall carefully folded the weathered fabric and tucked it into a rucksack.

 “They wasted no time closing up all the rifts in the area soon after their arrival. She has this ‘mark’, then?” asked Krem. Blackwall nodded.

 “Adaar is a force all on her own. From what I can tell from our shared encounters, she isn’t too pleased being stuck with the Mark at all.”

 “That didn’t seem to stop her from gathering a team of her own to take care of problems.”

 “No, it didn’t. Adaar knows a job isn’t done unless it’s done well. Her time as a merc shines through,” said Blackwall.

 “Tal-Vashoth mercs usually have a higher set of standards as insurance for employment. It’s harder to get hired when you might be a Qunari spy,” replied Krem. The Iron Bull, case in point.

 “From the Bull’s experience?” asked the warden.

 “Not just him, but our elves as well,” said Krem.

 “I suppose the brunt of that comes from your Orlesian contractors, no?” Blackwall fished an old amulet out from a dilapidated chest.

 “Yes. In my experience, Southerners are more paranoid about spies in their midst than Vints.”

 “Are they not concerned about the Qunari having contacts inside Tevinter?”

 “Of course they are. But Tevinter is a land ruled by mages. The Qun fears magic above all else. Logically, the South is easier to slip spies into.”

 “True, but wouldn’t that mean that Adaar-no, she’s a mage, I suppose that makes very little sense,” Blackwall sighed. “There are so many unknowns to resolve. The murder of the Divine, Adaar’s survival, the origin of the Mark, its connections to the fade rifts and the Breach…at least the Blight had a simpler objective,” he said.

 “The Archdemon with a target on its head?” asked Krem. Blackwall chuckled.

 “In light of recent events, slaying a horde of Darkspawn and beheading a dragon seems a bit more fathomable,” replied the warden.

 “It’s trivial to wish for things to be simpler, Ser Warden,” said the Lieutenant.

 “Leave it to a Vint to be a blighted pessimist,” said Blackwall, smirking.

 “It’s in the blood.” Krem grinned back.

* * *

They regrouped to trek up the steepest mountain on the Coast. At the top was a cluster of decaying cabins. Adaar instructed them to search through each of them.

 “More journal entries and empty bottles,” said Krem, “Sounds like the Wardens have moved on.”

 “I expected it. We don’t keep to one place for too long,” remarked Blackwall. Before Krem could make a remark, there was a rap on the doorframe. Dalish looked sombre.

 “They found their missing scouts. Gutted and sacked with a little note left behind.”

 “Shit,” Blackwall cursed. They collected their findings quickly. The group had met just outside the offending house. Adaar held the note, reading it aloud.

 “Mercy’s crest. Apparently these ‘Hessarians’ respect the wearer of this amulet. Do they think I will make this necklace in order to earn their ‘respect’?” she asked. No one answered.

 “Why provoke the Inquisition?” asked Krem.

 “The Blades of Hessarian are an ancient religious order. They believe they wield the judgement of Andraste herself. The Chantry publically declared them blasphemers centuries ago, so perhaps the Herald of Andraste’s appearance has threatened the legitimacy of their beliefs,” said Cassandra.

 “They ‘judged’ our scouts?” asked Adaar.

 “They did this under the banner of Hessarian, who granted Andraste a merciful death. This-“ Cassandra waved her hand in the direction of the bodies, “-was not mercy.”

 “Then I have no intention of letting them linger here any longer,” replied the Herald. “We wipe them out. If anyone surrenders, spare them. Leliana will make good use of them.”

* * *

 

They kicked the fortified doors open to unleash madness. Mabari flooded towards the front with teeth bared. The Hessarians seemed as volatile as their hounds, throwing their lives into attacks that held no caution or hesitation.

 An arrow grazed a weak spot near the junction of Krem’s neck and shoulder. He ignored the pain as the far off archer fell to the charging Seeker. Krem kicked in his current opponent’s stomach with his sword. A footpad veered in on his left flank.

 A burst of energy knocked the rogue out of the air, her leathers catching on fire. Adaar had spun a melee of flames. It ate away at multiple targets, the felled Hessarians screaming as it boiled into their skin.

 “Herald of Andraste!” a loud voice roared. The leader, or whom Krem assumed was the leader, stood at the back of camp. He was a large man brandishing a hatchet with two armoured mabari sitting at his feet. “Your hypocrisy will die today by the blade of Hessarian!”

 “I have made no claims of being sent by Andraste,” replied Adaar, her voice rising to meet her opponent’s, “It is only you who claims to deliver her judgement upon the world, or am I misinformed?”

 “You have no right to question our righteousness, godless Qunari. The Maker and his bride demand justice from all the sinful. What would satisfy the Bride more than to kill the pagan Herald of the Inquisition?” He spat on the ground.

 “We sent our people to negotiate and in return you killed them. I see no justice. I only see a pathetic joke of so-called morality claimed by degenerates. Hessarian, I’m not waiting for a punch line from a god. Who laughed while he watched his own wife burn on the pyre, Mafareth or the Maker?” She said. Hessarian bared his teeth and snarled.

 “Enough of your mindless jabbering, blasphemer! I will kill you and judge your black soul!”

The warrior rushed forward, the hounds darting further ahead towards Adaar. Her stave made contact with the ground, ice manifesting just under scrabbling paws. A mutt slid towards Krem, his blade quickly slicing through the beast. The mabari at the gate were damn hard to kill, but Krem had learned tricks ever since his first contract in Ferelden. Throw the dog off guard and it showed its figurative belly. Then you cut them open.

 He glanced up to see the Herald send a barrage of lightening into the blade of the hatchet. Hessarian’s fingers jolted, the weapon falling to the ground as the man wailed in pain.

 “You should’ve called yourselves the Blades of Mafareth!” roared Adaar. She swung her bladed end into his neck. Hessarian’s head fell. Krem thought it was fitting for a man who turned against the blameless to now be judge himself.

 “Bastards,” said Blackwall. The Seeker sighed.

 “Their mercy ends today, at least. Before there was any more unnecessary loss of life,” she said. The Herald said nothing.

 “Good riddance,” spat Sera.

 Krem caught a flicker of emotion in Adaar’s expression. Regret. It quickly melded into a firm frown. Maybe she was just angry. The Herald had more lives to account for than just her own. Lives lost to senseless fanaticism, losses that couldn’t have been predicted.

 It was a cruel punch line for a woman who hadn’t yet heard the joke.

 

* * *

 

Haven was a cold waste of a village. Krem could already feel his armour start to rust.

A few barrack tents were pitched beside the smithie, squeezed in beside the entrance tor the main complex. It was tight quarters for a growing army, but where else could they go? Ferelden likely tolerated the Inquisition’s presence because it was based in the arse-end of nowhere. This previously unknown settlement now had an influx of recruits crowding within the already brimming gates. Krem’s group was one of many to filter in. The tallest of them was the first to disappear. She likely had responsibilities to see to.

 Bull was waiting for him.

 “I heard you killed some cult on the Coast without me,” he greeted him.

 “Yeah. Me and the boys are right starving because of it,” said Krem. He could feel his stomach begin to stir at the thought of food.

 “She killed the leader, right?”

“Took his head off. The bastard only had a hatchet to defend himself with.” The Bull stroked his chin.

 “She’s impatient. I saw it when she hired us. Bet she was the first one to take off as soon as you arrived, too. Adaar wants to seal the Breach and seal it as soon as possible,” he said.

“The man was a bigot. I’m surprised the Herald didn’t drag the fight out.”

 “Oh, he definitely deserved it. Those ‘Blades of Hessarian’ were an unknown variable. A lot more middlemen are going to die at the hands of people like that. They do it for the greater good. The Divine’s death has all the scum rising to the top. Someone has to go in and clean it up,” said Bull.

 “A lot more scum, a lot more work for us,” Krem smirked. “I told you the pay was worth the excitement.”

 “You told me a lot of things boy, and I decided to go along with it,” he replied.

 “That means no take backs, Chief.”

 “Ha! Like I’d need a chance to catch my breath, you little shit,” cried Bull. Krem laughed along with him. No take backs meant they couldn’t have second thoughts. They were either in it for the long haul, or died carrying out their orders out trying to thread the world’s largest needle.

 Krem wondered if his elementary stitches would be up to snuff for a sky hole.


	11. X. Fever and Brandy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been sick recently, mentally and physically, which has prevented me from posting. Thank you for sticking around, I really appreciate it. 
> 
> TW: in-game slur, mentions of flu sickness, alcohol consumption

The morning she’d planned to depart for Redcliffe, Irasae woke up with an aching throat. 

She felt for the nodes under her jaw; they were warm and swollen. She cleared her throat and winced.

It seemed every force of nature was trying to prevent her from getting to Redcliffe. After wiping out the Blades of Hessarian, Irasae made sure to write several reports regarding the lives that were lost. Harding had asked her to sign the letters that would be sent to the families. She’d broken the quill tip from how hard she’d pressed into the parchment.

Though Irasae had planned to depart for Haven directly, she remained on the Coast for another week. Similar shards , like the ones found in the Hinterlands, turned up in the area; she’d collected over six in one week. Of course, tracking the artifacts down went at a snail’s pace because of the bears.

Irasae had lost count of how many kills they’d made. She'd even entertained the idea of saving some of the meat for supper one night. Varric had complained his way out of that one.

_“The texture is wrong, it smells worse than a darkspawn corpse and it tried to kill us,” he had said._

_“Which is just like the last one hundred of them that we’ve killed,” replied Blackwall._

_“It’s almost as tall as me, Varric. That’s a waste of fresh meat,” she’d said._

_“Waste not, want not, I’ll not turn down bear ribs.” The dwarf had given the Warden the side eye for that remark._

_“You’re kidding. You eating that,” he’d gestured to the bear, “is really close to cannibalism.”_

_“If Ser Warden’s the bear, I reckon you’re a fox,” the remark had come from Krem, who had remained quite neutral in conversation since he had been hired._

_“Come again?”_

_“You’re clever, but in the end she’s going to catch you and make you eat it.”_

_“Or you could just say ‘no, thank you’. My feelings aren’t hurt that easily,” she’d said._

_“No thanks, Adaar. I’m fine,” Varric had conceded._

With a hefty amount of shards in her possession, Irasae had decided to return to Haven. The Iron Bull had taken part of his company ahead of her. She suspected that Leliana would have plenty to discuss with her when the qunari spy arrived at the Inquisition base.

_Surely, you must know how suspicious it looks?_

She’d pushed the nagging voice aside. Irasae was no fool. She was hardly material for the hero she’d been made into. She was a heretic by basic definition, a vashoth that acknowledged no god and practised no religion. Hiring Bull appeared more like a qunari conspiracy to conquer the South than a business transaction between two mercs. She’d been very aware about that fact.

Irasae payed no favour to the Qun, almost as equally as she did to the Chantry. Bull was a weight on a scale of balance. If she could have him on her side, to feed waiting ears in Par Vollen, Irasae could keep the Qunari from crossing the ocean.

She was doing the Chantry more favours than they were willing to recognize.

Irasae stood from the bed and lit the hearth. She poured fresh snow into a pot and let the fire melt it. She also crushed some of her elfroot stores and placed them into the mixture. Once it was finished, she blew on it then swallowed.

She got dressed, slipping on a leather jerkin overtop her sweater, then fastening her cloak. Last came her gloves. She hardly left the cabin without them anymore.

 _You’re cold, girl._ Her mother had said once, _because_ _qunari blood keeps best in warmth. Fitting, that you are mage with those fire tricks._

Irasae had learnt not to use mana to keep warm unless absolutely necessary. Katoh had instilled in her that preservation and moderation were the methods that ensured success in a magical life. She also taught her how to ration her mana between healing and fighting, offensive and defensive. She could spare a pinprick of warmth and send it right to her fingertips, if she wanted.

That way, she could save her fire tricks for more like the ‘Blades of Hessarian’.

She made her rounds in the village. Irasae gave a nod to the guard outside her door, the elven Faron. Through passing small talk Irasae had learned that Faron’s husband and son died serving as local security at the Conclave.

Another grieving mother. Why so many dead, and not Irasae? Why the vashoth and not her loved ones?

“Good morning, your worship,” greeted a voice. Krem. The lieutenant looked fresh from sparring, his face covered in a sheen of sweat.

“Good moah- good morning,” she’d whispered back. Damn it, it was worse than she’d thought! Hopefully the draught was working to reduce some of the inflammation.

“You all right?” he asked. She nodded, gesturing to her throat.

“Cold. My voice is going,” replied Irasae.

“I’m used to interpreting ‘Grim-speak’, so I’ve got you there. Did you take anything for it?”

“Elfroot.”

“Is it working?” They walked down the stairs and out the great doors, towards the smithie.

Irasae made a middling gesture with her hand.

“Not great,” she whispered back.

“I’ve got some swill that might help warm your voice. West Hill or something,” offered Krem.

“I’ll try it.” She pushed mana into her fingertips and touched her nodes. It soothed the ache a little. They reached the Chargers barracks. The lieutenant disappeared into one of the tents, reemerging bottle first.

“Here,” he said. “I’m no doctor, but this should help a little.”

“To not-doctors,” she said, and drank. It tasted like brandy, a hint of honeysuckle tang in the aftertaste. “Good.”

“Care to sit awhile? I can grab Stitches so he can have a proper look at you,” the lieutenant waited for no answer as he dragged a turned over trough bucket and gestured for her to sit. She did feel rather lightheaded.

_It’s just a cold, she thought._

He brought the healer, a stern looking man who had his fair share of stitch marks and old scars.

“Winter fever,” he diagnosed her, “Swollen neck, congestion in the nose and throat, a lost voice. I recommend bed rest and more of that brandy for the Herald.”

”It’s not that bad,” she protested.

“If you don’t let yourself rest now, it will be _that_ bad,” remarked Stitches.

“I’ve had cobweb lungs while fighting a drake before. I think I can handle myself with just the brandy,” she whisper-hissed. The pain creeping into her tone convinced neither party.

“A history with cobweb lungs tends to prove the contrary, your worship.”

“I can’t win, can I?” she asked dryly. Krem raised an eyebrow.

"A lousy victory in comparison, my lady,” he said.

“Oh, let me salvage my pride,” she wheezed back.

“And your voice,” replied Krem.

“Indeed,” agreed Stitches.

Irasae didn’t want to be idle. She’d grown tired of waiting, of preparing. Those moments where she was in the makings of a force fed into her anxieties. When Irasae fought demons in the Hinterlands, she worried about the rifts instead. If her thoughts lingered too long on the tears, she swore she could feel the Mark flare hot against the fabric of her glove.

Even her dreams had become more worrisome. The plains of the Fade held more spirits and demons than before. As Solas had said once: the Fade expanded to produce new areas the further Irasae trekked through Ferelden.

In one calmer dream, she’d encountered Wisdom. They’d drawn her to a high cliff in the Frostbacks, speaking of a resting place beyond.

She’d been cautious of the spirits since the Breach. There were seemingly more of them gathered due to recent events. It was sure to upturn more demons as well, though Irasae had been fortunate enough not to have one disturb her sleep. Yet.

What she feared was no demon, but the parasite that lingered on her hand. It had almost killed her once. Who was to say it wouldn’t again?

No one could say, not even Solas.

Krem walked her back to her cabin. She’d agreed to rest after some complaining. She clasped her hands close to her stomach, trying to focus on her breathing.

“Does it hurt, the Mark?” he asked.

“It doesn’t anymore. I don’t like thinking about it,” she replied, still whispering.

“It must be troublesome.”

“This whole job is troublesome. It’s so-ugh!” she threw her hands in the air.

“I’m glad to hear some of your group survived, Adaar. I heard they weren’t front line security.”

“I was,’ she said softly.  “But I’m glad too.”

“Did they pay you for all the trouble?” he asked.

“Hell no!” she exclaimed, then coughed, which turned into pained laughter. “Haven’t had the time to think about that…”

Krem frowned. He reached out towards her suddenly, placing a copper into her hand.

“I don’t take charity,” she said. He shook his head.

“That’s not it. Look at the heads.” Irasae flipped over the coin. It held an oval shape, stretched from it’s original form. A small hand with a star in the palm had been moulded into the face.

“The hand of Andraste, that’s what the man who gave it to me said. He was one of the refugees at the Crossroads.”

“He made this?” she asked.

“He saw your hand when you came down from Haven, went home, and told his family that someone was trying to fix the hole in the sky. When he saw us passing through with the Inquisition’s banner, he gave it to me.”

“Payment,” Irasae muttered. She rubbed it between thumb and forefinger to make it warm. “That’s a start.”

“Your Worship?”

“Adaar,” she corrected. “I’m no Herald.”

“What about a lady?” countered Krem, grinning.

“I’ll concede to the title, Lieutenant, when I rest upon downy pillows and silk sheets.” She coughed.

“Milady it is, if you’ll call me Krem. Lieutenant sounds too formal,” he said. The quick tongued lad was still smiling, ear to ear.

She couldn’t help but laugh, or try to. Her lungs felt like they were filled with smoke. Krem watched on as she nearly hacked up one onto the white ground.

“Vashedan,” she cursed hoarsely. She forced the cabin door open. Irasae took a few mugs from the windowsill and poured herself and Krem another pint.

“To milady’s health,” he said. She couldn’t help but notice the bounce in his knee, the only indication of nervousness in the confidant soldier. His gaze was a steady, deep brown.

“To fever,” she replied.  She gulped it down fast, pushing it into the back of her throat.

* * *

Damnably, the ‘Winter Fever’ turned out to be fiercer than Irasae imagined. She had become so ill with congestion and cough that the fatigue overcame her. 

More shockingly, word of her condition had spread across Haven. An ever constant crowd had gathered outside her cabin. Prayer and chants had echoed through the window. Some had even tried to enter with supposed remedies and treatments.

Irasae had no doubt that a few of them didn’t have her wellbeing in mind; a mob wholly dedicated to her wellbeing was as dangerous as it sounded.

Oria had slipped in-between guard rotations. Her sister had brought food, clutched in her bandaged hands.

“The hell you’ve been doing?” she’d managed. Oria had looked at her with wide eyes.

“Got clumsy with some scales. They just burned a bit.”

“Do burns twist bones?!” Irasae had wheezed, another coughing fit taking over.

“No, silly, claws do that!” Her cheeks had flushed dark from the cold, her light hair was pulled back into a lazy ponytail.

“Be more careful.”

“Sure.”

Irasae was less miserable in her sister’s company.  She was just bored out of her godforsaken mind. Haven didn’t have much entertainment wise, true, but at least she could scour the grounds to gather information. She was bedridden with few around her she could trust. It had been a long time since she’d found herself in such a vulnerable position.

“The universe is against me,” she said, when the fire had grown softer.

“Dramatic, but understandable,” replied her sister.

She was stirring a pot of tomato soup. Irasae had pinched a few from an abandoned garden in the Hinterlands. She was normally her band’s cook, but Oria could follow a recipe.

“How is it?” Oria offered her the spoon to taste.

“Fucking delicious,” she croaked. “From what I can taste.”

“The human healer told me your fever went down. What about the elf?” asked Oria.

“Solas came by last night. I don’t blame him, the crowding was ridiculous all day.”

Her fellow apostate was a breath of fresh air. They spoke of magical study that he had conducted, the exploration of the elements and spirit; the subjects were a welcome distraction.

The way Solas framed it, spirits were originally of the natural world. Like the wind, they were a force that flowed and changed the environment around them. Some were malevolent and some were kind, just like people.

It reminded her of dreams she’d had as a child, the ones that had come before her magic had manifested. The landscapes of the dream worlds were vibrantly green, dotted with tall stone columns. Pointy-eared people (like her) walked alongside spectres in a sort of fantastical bazaar.

She’d always thought her mother’s tales of Kont-aar had inspired such dreams. Rivain was supposed to be the most beautiful place, filled with mysticism and wonder.

“I miss mom,” she said, feeling a great ache swell in her chest.

“Have you written to her yet?” her sister asked. Irasae groaned.

“You should.”

“She won’t read it,” replied Irasae.

“Papa will. It’ll put his nerves at ease.”

“Might as well address it to him, then,” she said.

“I’ll grab you a quill,” replied Oria.

She paused when the quill touched the paper. Where exactly should she start, waking up in chains or waking up as the Herald of Andraste? Would her mother even care about the Inquisition, with all its ties to the Chantry? No, Irasae should start with the obvious: ‘I’m alive,’ then follow that with ‘I fell out of the hole in the sky and lived.’

Her mother wasn’t a worrier. She had unfaltering trust in her family. It balanced out her father’s incessant paranoia.

Irasae wrote. She wrote and wrote until she had exhausted her thoughts and was satisfied.

* * *

Around the fourth day of sickness, Irasae felt stronger. Breathing didn’t make her chest ache. She could start practising mindfulness again, now that she could regulate her breath.

She moved from the bed to the floor. Crossing her legs, she breathed.

_One, two, three, four and hold…._

_exhale, one, two, three, four and hold…._

A knock came at the door. Irasae ignored it and began another breath cycle. The knocking persisted.

“What?” she called. The door opened slightly.

“Your worship?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Adan, apothecary.” A man stuck his head inside the doorframe. “You look better than the first time we met.”

“We have?” asked Irasae.

“I’d be surprised if you remembered. You were unconscious. I was your healer right after the Breach appeared.”

“Adan. Thank you,” she said.   “I assume you’ve retired? Haven’t seen you around healing people.”

“I’m an alchemist, but there was no one else to tend to you at the time so I stepped up. The fever might have been recurring from the that time…blasted thing.”

“You must be glad that Solas and Stitches are up to the task.”  The alchemist chuckled.

“Of course I am. They actually know what the hell they’re doing.”

“That’s reassuring,” she remarked dryly.

“Just thought I’d check in, but you seem fine. You oxmen are as tough as old leather.”

Irasae grimaced and said nothing.

“You need anything mixed, want to set some rogue templars on fire, find me by the far end of the complex,” he said.

“I appreciate it,” said Irasae.

Adan nodded and left.

_Tough as old leather, she thought. Of course I am._

You became tough because you had to. Humans always made something of strength, saying it was inherited through the blood. That was a lie. Every hit, spell and sickness she’d ever endured in her life, due to circumstance or prejudice, made her hurt. If Irasae had had any choice in her fate at all, she would have never become mage. The simple merc life she could’ve had, that she would have had….

It wasn’t just blood. Fuck that. She was strong. She’d hurt enough to endure, to become stronger. Irasae had become a mage who could use a stave to provide for both of her families, her blood and the Valo-kas.

Irasae would close the Breach, then all the madness would end. She would fulfil her obligations to the Inquisition and then she would be free. She could choose her fate.

She had the power to make her own decisions. She held the influence, right in the palm of her hand.


	12. XI. Raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irasae recovers and has some interesting conversations. Also, she shares a friendly game of cards with Krem and Sera.
> 
> TW: mention of substance abuse (I discuss elfroot being like a weak version of weed when smoked)

Towards midday, Irasae was well enough to take her borrowed armour to the smithy. Instead of it being an in-and-out task, she found herself being measured for some custom work. Harritt was appalled that she’d even kept the gear she’d been wearing.

“It’s so ugly you might as well dress some of the hounds in it,” he’d said. She hadn’t taken offensive to the remark. The fabric was heavy and an unpleasant beige colour; it might as well have gone to the mabari for its ruggedness alone.

“New duds for the Herald, yeah?” called Blackwall.

“That’s the plan. Harritt’s very thorough.”

“I suppose the amount of bears we’ve faced would give any gear the beating of its career,” he said.

“Don’t remind me,” she said. Blackwall leaned up against the wall of the smithy, pulling out a pipe from his jacket. Irasae followed suit.

“I’ve never met a marcher warden before,” said Irasae, blowing a smoke ring into the white sky.

“You've met others?” asked Blackwall. She nodded.  
  
“Fereldans, the ones they recruited after the Blight.”  
  
“What were you doing in Ferelden?” Blackwall looked quite interested.  
  
“My father was helping refugees find homes across the Waking Sea. There was a dalish clan on the move and a group of Tal-Vashoth who had settled nearthe River Dane. They’d lost everything to the Darkspawn, because they’d had never heard of the Blight ordidn’t know that it was coming. The Wardens helped us. It was more than anyone else ever did.”

In a time where everyone was fleeing for their lives, her father had taken her to Ferelden to find a teacher. She’d been sixteen, barely traveled and unable to light a candle wick without glancing over both shoulders.

“I must confess, Adaar, when I'd heard someone had survived the Breach-”

“I'm not what you expected.”  
  
“That's not the first time you've heard such. I apologize,” he said, sighing heavily into his smoke.  
  
“At least you’re honest,” she said. “Most of the soldiers out there were expecting a human. I bet most of them still think of the Herald as one, too.”

“That seems to be changing, I think. They have more than a soldier’s respect for you, after what you did in the Hinterlands.”

“It was what was right,” she said. “They would have starved without the Inquisition there to intervene.”

“Without the Inquisitor stepping in, more like,” quipped Blackwall.

Irasae choked on her smoke, wheezing it out like a deflated bellows.  
  
“There is no Inquisitor, Blackwall,” said Irasae. The warden shook his head.  


“You're leading them, aren't you?” he replied.  
  
“Only because I'm the only one who can seal the rifts.”  
  
Blackwall rolled his eyes.  
  
“Not just that. You take charge. It's not the Seeker’s powerful drive that leads us through the Hinterlands. You help the people, the refugees. Your spymaster wouldn't do that. She’d be more concerned with doing what needs to be done and little else, and Cullen isn't likely to lead the troops through every nook and cranny of Ferelden because he’s buried in responsibilities up here.”  
  
“So I'm the ‘Inquisitor’ because I'm the only one who can.”  
  
“You're the only one who will,” said Blackwall.  
  
“Would you follow me?” asked Irasae.  
  
“Your cause is just. That’s why I agreed to join.”  
  
Irasae kept her eyes on the Breach, the green storm swirling in the centre of the torn veil. It crackled in its dysfunction and distortion. Her smoke gathered grey in the white wind, disappearing with it.  


* * *

“Back on your feet, I see,” greeted Solas. He’d taken up the cabin near the apothecary. It was a little too close to Adan for Irasae’s comfort.

“I’m surprised it kept me down for as long as it did,” she admitted.

“The physical and mental stress alone would be to blame. I am pleased that you have such resilience.”

“Fighting winter fever pleases you?” asked Irasae.

“Your character, rather,” replied Solas. “Both your frustrations and compassion speak well of it.”

“Did I surpass your expectations?”

“Yes. To start, I thought you’d never wake up, that there would be no future for you to wake up to. But you did, fighting through demons and your confusion.”  


“You’re the one who thought to stick my hand into that first rift, not me,” said Irasae.

“That I was able to help in any fashion was lucky and merely common sense,” he said.

“Information that can save the world is worth more than sovereigns, Solas. Being humble about it doesn’t change that fact.”

"I-thank you, Adaar,” he replied, a small smile on his face.

“I actually came to ask you if you planned to stay,” she said.

“I’ve thought about it. It would be dishonourable to leave when I have, as you said, ‘information that can save the world.’”

“Dishonourable?” asked Irasae.

“To run from the Breach would only carry me to Thedas’ final days. Even though I currently find myself uncomfortably close to the Chantry and the Templars, my presence has been tolerated so far. All due to Cassandra’s graces,” he said.

“The first time I met her, I though she was going to take my head off,” she admitted. “But for someone as religious as she is, she still listened to a vashoth like me”

“Her bias doesn’t completely cloud her reasoning. Her emotions, however, do.”

“She doesn’t completely understand you, Solas, but she won’t stick you in a circle against your will.”

“Thank you for the assurance, though I doubt there are many loyal templars about to watch one apostate,” chuckled Solas.

“Or two,” added Irasae. “Haven can’t accommodate the number of recruits coming in, yet our numbers are still small.”

“In infancy, it will stumble. But it must learn to walk soon,” said Solas.

“I’d prefer if we didn’t refer to the Inquisition as a child,” said Irasae.

“And why not?” he asked, looking faintly amused.

“I was a troubled kid,” she said seriously.

“And being the Herald, you feel this will reflect upon the Inquisition?”

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, Solas.”

“Do you think Leliana knows the direction of the war? Is Cullen not aware that most of his recruits are farmers who have never touched a sword before? Even Josephine, who deals with the nobility, cannot predict what may happen during negotiations. You are not the only one thrown off balance by the Breach.”

“I’m the one who has to fix the hole in the sky. I’m the one with the impossible task, remember?” She nearly yelled.

“You are right, but the impossible has already happened. That means that events previously unable to occur by the laws of nature have broken through. Everything connected to the Breach and the explosion that caused it has enabled the impossible to become possible.”

“I know that. Even _Varric_ fucking knows that.”

“Then know that the possibility of success has been heightened by those broken rules.”

“You think?” she asked flatly.

“I do,” he said, “Because there _must_ be a way to better this world, and you are the best equipped of any of us.”

“Was that doubt I heard?” she asked, “You seemed to have it all figured out until just now.”

“When I spoke of a child learning to adapt, Adaar, I was mostly referring to myself. I have already stumbled so many times since I’ve met you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“In the beginning, my assumption was that you were…I am very unaccustomed to working with Tal’vashoth. I decided that I knew who you were, an unfortunate merc who would never wake up from falling out of the Fade.”

“Then you woke, and everything became uncertain. But what I am guilty of, Adaar, is that I forgot your - for the lack of a better word - humanity. I assumed you were only influenced by money and by vengeance to close the rifts. What you’ve done for the refugees, for the families of the dead troops on the Coast, were beyond what I chose to expect. For that, I have no excuse.”

“I…appreciate your honesty,” she said. “I didn’t know what to expect of you either. You didn’t seem interested in talking to me in camp, so I was a little confused when you came to see me when I was ill.”

“I wanted to be sure that your sickness was not connected to the Mark.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“It is nothing, Adaar.”

“Well… I need to speak with our spymaster about our informants in Redcliffe. The plan is to head there by next week, so we’ll have to sit on our hands for a while longer,” said Irasae.

“We could play Diamondback to pass the time,” suggested Solas.

“Really? I heard that playing against you wasn’t good for morale,” she replied.

“So, you’ve spoken to Blackwall.”

“A little,” she admitted. “Have no fear, I am up for a game. If we get bored of it, I’m competent in Chanson D’argent and Wicked Grace.”

“The latter will likely attract Varric to play as well.”

“Good. That will make the wait worth it,” she said, smirking.

“His expressions or the profit?” asked Solas.

“Both.”

* * *

In the tavern, Flissa scurried about with many pints on trays.

Her throat felt scratchy and sore from talking so much. She shouldn’t push herself too much, she thought idly, otherwise she would be confined to the bed again.

Irasae would go mad if that were to happen, if another throng of sightseers congregated so close to her room. It was all madness, her own and theirs.

A few familiar faces were seated near the back. Krem and Sera were engaged in a game of cards, alongside several Chargers. Irasae could recall Dalish easily enough, the man next to her was Grim, who was followed by Skinner, the orlesian elf. They watched on as their lieutenant and Irasae’s archer squabbled.

“I told you, you can play that card five different ways, just not tha’ one,” said Krem.  Sera stuck out her tongue.

“I can play this foley if I want! Makes the game actually interesting,” she accused him with a glance.

“Then explain to me how the two of hearts magically becomes a trump card?” asked Krem.

“Pft, magically,” the red jenny saw her and began to waggle her fingers at Irasae. “Magically, the two of hearts are made up of two powerful sisters. You see, there’s one magical,” she pointed at Irasae, “And one sneaky,” her hand flapped upwards toward the ceiling. Her eyes were sleepy. Irasae could only describe them as ‘dreamy’.

“Her worship and the Dragon-slayer are the two of hearts?”

“That’s why they trump, Krempuff!” Sera sang giddily. “Shiny and Buttons, sisters kicking arses! She is your real sister, yeah?”

“We share the same mother,” replied Irasae.

“And a father?”

“Yes, Sera,” she said, unable to keep the smile from her lips.

“Krempuff?” Krem groaned, “Really?”

“I don’t know about you, but he looks more like Krem aux fraises,” said Irasae. it was true, his cheeks were significantly redder than they were a minute ago.

“Please stop, milady,” he grumbled.

“Oooh, Milady!” Sera giggled madly.

‘That’s nothing to what you called my sister the other day, what was it, Sassy shiv-dark?” she teased.

“Maybe, maybe not!” blustered Sera, her own face flushed pink.

“So the sisters trump, do they?” Krem muttered under his breath.

“Right, like I was tryin’ ta say before-“ Sera threw down another card onto the table.

“Red is still trump.” Krem threw a higher number and cleared the pile. “Care to join the next round?’ he asked Irasae.

“Sure,” she said. Irasae took a seat next to Dalish, who uttered a hello over a chorus of snorting from Skinner. 

“Maker’s piss,” he swore.  He held up the recently discarded card, the four of clubs. A pair of horns had been drawn on each symbol, a dagger near one and a ball of fire near the other. And also, a very rotund pair of tits around the centre.

Lovely.

“Would that count as artistry?” asked Irasae.

“If you love women,” Krem chuckled. She snorted.

“I’ve always preferred personality over assets.”

“Uh,” Krem blanked, “ No comment, milady.”

They settled into the game. Apparently it was a local fereldan pastime called Raven. The rules resembled that of Wicked Grace in that you put in your bid at the beginning. Nothing was usually wagered in Raven, aside from one’s pride.

Once you learned to partner with the right person , winning tricks became much easier. Unless you were playing with Sera. It was hard to guess what she would play when she was constantly throwing out random cards.

“Damn you, krem-fray,” Sera groused. Krem took the trick with a sweep.

“You weren’t paying attention. Try again,” he drawled, a hint of a smile drawn there.

Irasae pulled out her own trump. “I’m with you, partner,” she said to Sera. The jenny huffed.

“There, how do you like that?” asked Sera, quickly recovering. “I’ll take this-”

“Now you’re getting it,” said Krem.

The game ended in a near win. Sera was just under her claimed bid.

“I was this close,” she exclaimed, holding up a few fingers.

“Not bad for my first time,” mused Irasae.

“And I’m not playing again ‘till tomorrow. Got to think up something to beat you next game,” she challenged Krem.

“Fair. Your-milady?” Krem offered.

“I’m ready for another round,” she said.

“Krem, we’re headin’ out for the barracks,” interjected Dalish.

“Tell Bull the Coast reports are done, “ he replied. Dalish nodded.

They filed out of the back door. Irasae noticed Skinner’s presence didn’t leave Dalish’s, her arm causally hung over the other’s shoulder.

The new round of Raven went by much faster with just two players. Irasae half expected Krem to fill the silences with small talk and questions, but the lieutenant seemed to care very deeply about his cards. His eyes almost didn’t leave them.

“Raven,” he said. The bird landed on top of the trick pile.  Its eye had a cartoonish sort of wink.

“Good one,” she said. Irasae knew that she was hardly better than Sera. Her mind occupied by many other things rather than the game.

Krem collected the deck to shuffle.

“How’s the throat?” he asked.

“Better,” she said, “Tried smoking elfroot instead of swallowing it. It was a more pleasant experience.”

Elfroot had uses beyond medicinal. For such a common plant, it had innumerable uses. Though Irasae personally preferred tobacco in  her pipe, many used elfroot recreationally. The culture was vast in Orlais, lesser and higher nobles alike forming groups to get off on vapours made by mixing in stronger substances.  In the country of excess, it was almost expected that one had such reliances to keep up with the Grand Game.

Irasae only remembered the crash of her first and only time. Her body had been completely incapacitated, unable to stand or move except to retch.

Once she had come out of her stupor, she’d had been told the mixture given to her had contained tevinter opium.

She’d learned to prepare her own supplements after that. Irasae didn’t often need them, anyway.

 “Copper for your thoughts?” asked Krem.

"I’m ready to leave. The sooner I do, the sooner I can convince the mages to help us seal the Breach,” she said.

“You sound weary.”

“Well, nothing’s for sure. They could say no, and I’m not fond of our other options.”

“The Templars,” he said.

“The Templars,” she agreed. “The world’s already backwards, what’s one more apostate reaching out to the Order for help?”

“I don’t know, milady. It’d just look odd.”

“Odd. I wish the Commander would see it that way. “

“He was one himself. It’s what he knows,” said Krem.

“I know what the Order is like,” she said. Irasae knew very well. She knew of Knight-Corporals who’d followed their captain without question. She’d seen them in formation, surrounding the porch. She’d seen how they’d laid siege to her childhood home, in Lydes.

The Order persecuted the invisibles, the misfits and the inbetweens. How would the Chantry deal with a vashoth mage?

Like the Qun would. Locked away, hidden, never spoken of but with vehemence and dragged around like a dog with a heavy chain around its neck.

“You understand the mages better than any other here. When you reach out to them, they’ll recognize that.”

“Some of them want to return to the Circle. Vivienne wants them reinstated, so the other Loyalists must want the same. I’m going to have to speak about that, now that I’m visible. It’s all bigger than I am…I have a voice for all the other vashoth mages and apostates. Meanwhile, people think that I’m their saviour sent by the Maker.” Irasae shook her head.

“Do you believe that?” he asked.

“No. It’s funny, Krem. My father’s andrastian, but I’ve never believed that a god could be so cruel to its own children. To turn away, even when they make the most horrible mistakes. I don’t understand how anyone could want to believe in that,” she said.

“You grow up hearin’ it enough that most don’t question it,” he said, “I always had doubts.”

“At least someone believes me,” she chuckled suddenly.

“I do, Adaar. We all do,” assured Krem. His smile was easy. “You’re a merc too. You lead and fight like one. That’s why we’ve got your back. We fight for good contracts, good pay-” his smile broke into a grin- “and a damn good boss.”

“Krem?” she asked.

“Milady?”

“I’m gonna need the same level of moral in order to patch up the sky. You think you can keep it up?”

“We’ll do our best. You’re paying us for that, after all.”

“The sky needs a big needle.”

“We’ll thread the blighted thing as best we can, Adaar. You have my word,” said Krem. He looked at her square in the eye.

“Then you’ll also have mine.” She offered the marked hand to him. He shook it firmly.

“Never doubted I wouldn’t.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing a lot lately now that Spring and the sun have come around. Hopefully I'll be back to posting once a week, maybe on Sundays~
> 
> I based the card game 'Raven' on the irl 'missionary poker', aka Rook. I grew up playing it around the campfire, so I thought it was fitting that the Haven chantry had a few decks of it lying around.


	13. XII. Judicious levity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irasae finally gets to Redcliffe.
> 
> TW: blood

Irasae entered the exposed tent of the Spymaster. Leliana was crouched over a crate, her head bent into her clasped hands.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker’s will is written..”

The Chant. Always the Chant, verses taken from the whole to benefit the speaker’s motive. Her father had a verse for every occasion. He’d introduced the dissonant verses when he taught her to write her letters. She remembered the beginning of Threnodies and bits of Shartan the best.

“Is that what you want from us? Blood?” Leliana whispered. She noticed Irasae then, her eyes red and wet.

“What does the Herald have to say? What does the Maker want?”

“I’m not the right person to ask,” said Irasae.

“Because you don’t believe. Of course,” replied Leliana. “Forget I said anything.”

“Bloodshed isn’t the answer?”

“There is nothing quite like judicious levity.”

“I guess,” said Irasae.

What did Leliana expect of her, exactly? It baffled Irasae that anyone would assume that she was andrastian. Hell, the fact that the people had styled her ‘you worship’ made her even more uncomfortable. It was like she was being deified.

Humans made shit like that make sense. Apparently an atheist, vashoth mage being a messenger of Andraste made sense when they tried to convince themselves it was ‘the Maker’s will.’

What a load of _vashedan_.

“You’re lucky. The Maker demands great sacrifices of his followers,” said Leliana. “He demands it all, our lives, our deaths, and even that isn’t enough. Even though Justinia gave him her all, he still allowed her to die.”

“I’m sorry. ”

“This whole place is filled with mourning and death.” Leliana sounded defeated. “There is so much doubt in my own mind. How could he have wanted this?”

Irasae didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t console her Spymaster, nor the vulnerable believer.  This stranger was so far out of her world. Now they were existing in the same sphere, the same horrible circumstance.

She hadn’t given a thought to the dead Divine since Val Royeaux.

“Justinia wanted the Inquisition to be formed regardless of what happened at the Conclave, didn’t she?”

“It was meant to be, but not in the way anyone could have guessed. Justinia had great foresight. She wanted for peace on both sides.”

“It will not be possible for mages and templars to be reconciled, not after all this war.”

“Presenting an alliance to the Rebels could change that. If we were to foster them amongst our own Templars, there may be a possibility for progress,” replied Leliana.

“Maybe. I wonder if the Commander would be so keen on the idea.”

“I’ve already started to make the prospect as pleasing as possible to Cullen. Regardless, it is not his decision. That responsibility falls to you, Adaar.”

“I know.”

“I’ve dispatched agents to Redcliffe. There’ll be support there for you in case something goes wrong. Maker willing, it won’t,” she said.

“I’ll do my best.”

Leliana sighed.

“Adaar, I shouldn’t have let you see me like this. It won’t happen again.”

“It’s all right,” she replied.

“A moment of weakness is something I cannot afford to happen again.”

“If you don’t allow yourself to feel now, it will bite you in the ass later. So, just…I don’t know, go easy on yourself.” 

“Thank you for your concern,” she replied plainly.

“It’s nothing,” said Irasae.

Leliana pulled her hood overtop her head and stood.

“Come in,” she said suddenly. A scout stepped out at Irasae’s left. He wordlessly handed a scroll to Leliana.

“I’ve assembled my men. Do you plan to leave today?”

“In a few hours,” said Irasae.

“Good luck.”

* * *

 

“This one’s mine!” roared Irasae. She blasted the rage demon through with ice. It screeched and withered, turning towards her to retaliate.

She forced her mana forward to call up a wall of cold.  It erupted from the ground, cutting into the demon.

“Goodbye!”

She could hear Bull’s laughter from across the field. Irasae pulled off her glove and reached for the rift. The Mark fluttered as a stream of energy connected with the tear.  She held her hand there, waiting until all of the sinews attached on either end. Then, Irasae clenched her hand and pulled it closed.

“You’re getting good at that, boss,” said Bull.

“There’s plenty of them to practise on,” she replied.

In the distance, she felt another shift in the Veil. Another rift?

“Maker have mercy! Close the gates, there’s more demons on the way out!” someone cried.

Up ahead, the doors to the Redcliffe village slammed shut. A fereldan soldier bared her sword and fought against a Shade.

A pulse went through the Mark as more demons pushed their way through the new rift.

She tried to advance towards it, but it was as if she were swimming upstream. Everything around her slowed.

Her hand reached for the Mark. A flare of light burst from the rift, then her hand caught on fire.

“FUCK!” she cried. It burned like she’d stuck her hand into an open flame.

She tried again and succeeded, pulling it closed with more force than necessary. Irasae’s hand shook from the exertion.

“Dammit...that one was different,” she replied. “It rejected me.”

“Did it?” asked Varric.

“It hurts like hell,” said Irasae. She rubbed her marked palm with her thumb. The nerves seized a little, as it was still tender there.

“The Veil seems unstable here, which may be because of the concentration of mages in the area,” said Solas.

“Keep your guards up. Something’s not right,” said Bull.

Were the rifts evolving? Ones that could slow everything around it, and change the flow of time?

“Halt, apostate!” the solider ran up to her, sheathing her sword.

“Yes?” replied Irasae.

“You the one that closed the rift?” she asked, her eyes narrowed. Irasae held up the Mark. It still pulsed with the sting of the rift.

“So it’s true, Herald of Andraste,” said the soldier. “I know what brings you to Redcliffe. Once you pass into the village, head to the Gull and Lantern. The Rebels and the magisters are holed up in there.” A look of disgust crossed her face.

“There are Vints here?” asked Bull.

“Aye. Maker willing, they won’t linger for much longer,” she said plainly. With that, she turned on her heel and stalked back towards the gate. Several other soldiers jumped to attention as she passed.

“Don’t, Varric,” Irasae said suddenly.

“Don’t what?” he asked.

“Don’t say, ‘well, this can’t get any worse,’”

“Unlike you, I don’t tempt fate for shits and giggles,” replied Varric.

“Really now?”

“Really.”

“Would Hawke back you up on that?” she asked.

“He’d laugh and then say ‘stop teasing poor destiny, Varric, that’s my hobby!’ ”

In ‘The Tale of the Champion’,  Hawke was described as a man who spoke little, and when he did he answered with his fists. Varric penned him as a strong, grizzled man who was angry with the entire world. That didn’t sound like the man Varric had just described to her.

Redcliffe was stuffed full. As they headed down the slope, Irasae saw many makeshift fires. There were injured, sick and the even the dead lying down on the roadside.

She caught sight of the Vints too. A cluster of them stood to the side. Each of them wore dark cloaks pointed hoods. A babble of foreign language carried over from them.

“That’s a lot of baggage, boss,” remarked Bull as they passed them by. “Vints mixed in with the Rebels…”

“I know,” she replied. The mages here already carried so much on their shoulders with the dissolution of the Circles. Why were there so many magisters here, and how did they enter the village with Leliana knowing?

Irasae led her party straight to the tavern. As the soldier had said, the Rebels filled the entirety of it. She’d never seen so many mages in one place before. For most of her life on the road it had only been her and Katoh. Even amongst the Inquisition’s current roster, there was only Vivienne and Solas, not counting herself. How much power was gathered in this very building?

Fiona was among the throng, deeper into the tavern. She looked very different from the woman Irasae had met in Val Royeaux. There were deep creases in her forehead and a furrow in her dark brow.

She looked older.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Irasae called out. Fiona looked over her shoulder, an eyebrow hitching upward.

“I was. Who are you?”

“Adaar, representative of the Inquisition.”

“What business do you have with me, Adaar?”

“A meeting with you, as you suggested,” she replied.

“I recall no such arrangement.” Fiona spoke with her hands.

“You approached me in Val Royeaux. Two of my companions here witnessed it.”

“That is not possible. I have not been in the capital since before the Conclave,” Fiona replied.

The Grand Enchanter pressed her hand to her forehead, looking dazed. 

“No, it is…not possible. I would not have endangered myself by leaving Fereldan. Adaar, you must understand, even if I called for such a meeting, as you claim, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.”

“Then who does?” asked Irasae. Fiona winced.

“I-”

A hush overtook the room. Two magisters walked onto the floor.

“Greetings, my friends!” called out the one in red.

“May I introduce-“ Fiona recovered shakily, “Magister Gereon Alexius and his son Felix.”

“I am in charge of the indentured mages here in Redcliffe, in cooperation with Fiona, of course,” said Alexius.

“I am Adaar, representing the Inquisition, alongside my companions,” Irasae gestured to Bull, Varric and Solas.

“You’ve come to inquire about conscripts, I understand? Please, sit,” he replied.

“We would only want the help of those who gave it freely. Besides that, we have plenty of soldiers.”

“Of course. I am sure we can agree upon a beneficial arrangement for both parties.” The magister smiled. She felt something inside of her turn over. Irasae was sitting down with a magister, brokering a deal with him. She’d always been told to avoid magisters, by her parents and Shokrakar.

_Listen, Adaar. The minute you go soft with a magister is the minute they need to sack you and kill you for your horns. Don’t believe me? Where do you think good ‘ole Bessie went?_

Bessie was the name of Shokrakar’s half horn. The other part presumably was in Tevinter hands, mounted on some wall or hung as a talisman to enrage the qunari antaam.

Irasae knew this man wouldn’t attack her, not here, where there were so many witnesses. He wasn’t supposed to be here, either. How the hell did the Rebels end up indentured to Tevinter with so little resistance?

“E-excuse me,” the magister’s son, Felix, spoke. He looked right at her, his visage pale.

“Felix,” said Alexius.

“I-I feel-”Felix stopped speaking. He fell right into Irasae’s lap.

She grabbed him under the arms and pulled him upright.

“I’m so sorry, my lady. F-forgive my clumsiness,” he said. Felix leaned into her as he tried to stand. A hand slipped under hers as she steadied him. Something smooth was pressed into it.

“Felix, are you all right?” gasped Alexius. He gestured for Fiona, who immediately came forward to help the young man.

“I’m all right, Father, just dizzy.”

“No, you’re unwell. Fiona, I’ll be needing your assistance up at the castle,” he said quickly. “I beg your pardon, Herald, but we will have to continue this at another date.”

“Of course,” replied Irasae. She pressed the slip of paper against the length of her hip, hidden under the flat of her hand. 

The magisters exited as quickly as they came. No sooner had the ruckus of the tavern resumed, she unfolded the note.

"What the hell was that?” asked Varric.

“A distraction,” replied Bull.

“Listen to this,” she said, as level as she could over the din of the Gull. “Come to the Chantry, you are in danger.”

“Or a trap,” added Bull.

“Five silvers there’s a magister performing a blood ritual in the Chantry,” said Varric.

“That’s oddly specific,” remarked Solas. Varric gave him a disbelieving look.

“I’m from Kirkwall. Our bread and butter are blood mages running amok.”

“Six silvers it’s demons,” said Irasae, “For consistency.”

* * *

 

There was a surprising lack of chantry sisters about. Or the Arl and his men, save the small band of soldiers outside the village.

From the Gull was an upward path towards the Redcliffe chantry. Refugees were camped on all sides.

When hey reached the doors, they fell open without ceremony.

A rift burnt through the rafters. Irasae rushed forward, stepping through a black demon corpse.

“Finally! You’re here!” a voice rang out. “Took you long enough.” The voice belonged to the  mage at the forefront.

Irasae unleashed  a barrage of fire upon a wraith, then retorted:

“Why not tell us about the rift in the note, not ‘you’re in danger’?”

‘It was an impromptu plan,” he replied. “The danger is real, I assure you, besides the tear.”

They handled the demons with practised speed. The mage seemed competent enough in his ability to hold his own. He was a bit flashy with his spells, using more flourishes than she could be bothered with herself. His fire burnt out in patterns, curling and zigzagging. His hands waved through the air as he had casted—laughing—as the demons screeched from his assault.

Irasae picked her way over to the rift. Like the one at the gate, it felt thick and slow when she approached it. She pushed through, holding her hand up to snap it closed.

“So you can do it., excellent!” cried the mage.

“Where is Felix?” she asked.

“Delaying Alexius. He may have trouble getting here if his father is intent on mothering him.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Blight sickness,” he replied. “A subject which has been beaten to death and unnecessary to continue speaking of. Ah, I should introduce myself. Dorian of House Pavus, your confidant against the magister threat here in Redcliffe.”

“A magister working against a magister? Scandalous,” said Irasae.

“I’m a _mage_ from Tevinter working against a magister, my friend. There is a difference. I’m afraid you Southerners tend to lump us together.”

_I wonder why, she thought._

“Felix, you’ve escaped?” asked Dorian. Felix stepped to Irasae’s right side.

“Barely.  It wasn’t wise to feign ill. I fear he won’t let me out of his sight again,” he replied.

“I only need to borrow you for the moment. Alexius doesn’t need to know that you’ve spoken to the Herald privately.”

“Why?” asked Irasae.

“Let me be plain. I prayed you wouldn’t come here, as my father claimed you would. Father, he… has joined a cult. They’re a Tevinter supremacist group called the Venatori. They’re obsessed with the survivor of the conclave—you, my lady.”

“How flattering that another cult finds me so intriguing,” scoffed Irasae.

“My father wants you dead,” said Felix.

“Then why bother with the airs of negotiation?” asked Solas.

“Alexius arrived here by abnormal means. He bent time to encounter you here,” interjected Dorian.

“As if. The rules of magic don’t allow time travel,” said Irasae.

“I agree. No magic can be so stable as to interfere with time,” said Solas.

“You’ve encountered the rifts here and near the village, have you not? They changed the flow of movement and reaction, probably as a side effect of Alexius moving his clan here from Minrathous. What I don’t understand is why he’s done it,” said Dorian.

“My father was not the type of man to become the thrall of some cult. Whatever you may believe of Tevinter as a a whole, this man is not my father. He has become the puppet of another magister,. He calls himself ‘The Elder One,’” said Felix in a grave tone.

“This Elder One just so happens to be very powerful, right?” asked Irasae.

“Yes. I’m sorry, but I have no information about him other than that he is most interested in the Mark on the Herald’s hand,” said Felix.

“Thank you,” she said. The young man seemed incredibly downcast. The way he spoke of Alexius was with great shame and sorrow. “I have to confront Alexius if I am to have any chance of asking the Rebels to ally with the Inquisition.”

“It would be better if you consulted with Red first, boss,” suggested Bull. “Time magic and cults together need a contingency plan.”

“You bet your ass it does,” muttered Irasae. “Your ass, my ass, and everybody else’s."

“If that’s the case, I’m coming with you,” said Dorian.

“Really?” asked Irasae.

“I know Alexius almost as well as Felix does. I’m also proficient with magic.”

“I’ll keep my eye on him, boss,” offered Bull.

“Fine, but if you try anything, Bull will take good care of you,” she said. Bull nodded.

“I accept,” said Dorian.

Back to Haven again, to give her report to Leliana and the others in the freezing cold.

_Andraste be fucking forsaken, I need a drink._

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vashedan - crap/shit, lit.'refuse' or 'trash' in qunlat.
> 
> So tired...I'm almost to In Hushed Whispers, almost...zzzzz.


	14. XIII. Liquid kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irasae meets a kind spirit, makes plans to confront Alexius, and drinks whiskey with a friend.
> 
> TW: alcohol consumption, blood mention

_“Who are you?” She heard a voice, but she could not see. This was a warm place. What looked like a cave began to materialize, with the dark overhang and pockets of light. Small floating flames flickered like fireflies all around her._

_“Who are you, spirit?” she called out._

_“I am Cole. Warmth…the sound of a warm blanket falling onto my shoulders.”_

_“Compassion?” she asked._

_“I don’t know what that means. I am capable of kindness and helpfulness,” said Cole._

_“I’ve met others like you, spirits who want to be helpful,” said Irasae._

_“I am…not like them. I’ve been told I’m different.” She saw the lights flicker. A figure stepped forward.  Cole’s face was hidden by a broad lidded hat._

_“My name is Adaar,” she said._

_“Fire thrower,” he translated. “But you can’t actually throw flames?”_

_“I used to try,” she replied._

_“Fire in the hearth, if I make the sparks dance, will anyone notice? Will we have to leave again?”_

_“Are you in my head?”_

_“No. I can feel other people’s thoughts, feel their feelings. It bubbles up to the surface like water in a kettle, boiling. I just touch it and I feel,” said Cole._

_“Why do you touch the water?”_

_“It hurts you, an old ache. I wanted to help make it better,” he replied._

_“You are a spirit, aren’t you? How can you understand my pain?” asked Irasae._

_“I know pain,” he said softly. “That’s why I want to help. I’ve lost friends, and that hurt me. They though I wasn’t real, that I couldn’t feel.”_

_“Did they think you were dead?”_

_"Dead, not real, it’s the same thing to them. I don’t know what I am anymore. It’s confusing.”_

_“Cole,” she said. “Why do you look like a human boy?”_

_“Am I not supposed to?”_

_“That’s not what I meant. You look real.”_

_“I am nearby. This dream is warm and the Veil is very thin, so clear to see through.”_

_“Where?”_

_“I am near the mages, soothing, touching their dreams and fighting their demons away. You must come, Adaar, and help them.”_

_“I will,” she said. “As soon as I can.”_

_“You must,” said Cole. “You must help them escape. He comes, chaining them to him so he can use them to destroy. You must save them from him.”_

_“The Elder One?”_

_“He comes. I don’t know why he calls himself that. He is old, but he is cruel and simple like a child. He is not wise, but cunning. Be wary of him, Adaar.”_

_“I will.. How do I find you, Cole?”_

_"You don’t need to find me. Not yet. Sunlight, dappling red and yellow,_ **_wake up Herald!_ ** _”_

“Herald, are you awake?”

“Ugh,” groaned Irasae. The dream was gone, abruptly taken from her. _Cole. Compassion. Help the mages in Redcliffe. The Elder One. Fuck._

“You’re wanted in the War Room,” said Faron.

“Sae,” muttered Oria, curled in the blankets beside her, “You’re crushing my arm.”

“Sorry.”

Her sister had shared her bed with her since the night of her arrival in Haven. Oria was starved of familiarity. Since they had reunited at the dragon’s lair, she had refused to leave Irasae’s side.

She was probably homesick. Oria bounced back and forth between Wycome and the Valo-kas as often as she could. Irasae and her near death experience had frightened her sister, so much so that she was now as clingy as barnacles were to a ship’s hull.

Oria probably thought Irasae would drop dead the moment she left her sight.

“It is midday, you worship. I suggest you hurry, there’s some magister hanging about the Chantry commons. It’s makin’ everybody nervous,” said the guard.

“I’m coming,” said Irasae. She felt her sister shift in the bed. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“Nah. I promised Sera I’d help her shoot darts,”

“From what I’ve seen, she doesn’t have bad aim.”

“No, she doesn’t,” said Oria, a dopey smile stretching from one ear to the other.

Irasae rolled her eyes. She dressed swiftly. As she pulled on her gloves, she heard Oria mumbling.

“What was that?” she asked.

“Bull’s lieutenant told me to invite you for drinks sometime. Pretty easy on the eyes, for a Vint.”

“Every scullery maid in Haven certainly thinks so,” replied Irasae.

“Do you?” Irasae shrugged in response.

“He’s all right.”

“Aye, I’m gettin’ up,” said Oria, groaning as she rolled from the cot. “Sae?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you bring the magister back with you?”

“He’s useful. If he turns out to be a mole, though, Leliana will know what to do with him,” she said.

“I don’t like him. Krem’s well enough, but a magister-”

"Don’t worry your head none. If Dorian steps out of line, Bull with be right there, alongside most of the recruits.”

“They’ll all jump at the chance to rescue their herald, without hesitation,” said Oria.

“Strange that humans, and so many of them, would willingly take the back of some Vashoth?”

“I may be biased, but it would take many idiots not to see that you are a natural leader, and an honest one.”

“Or that Andraste walked taller and with similar bearing.”

“For all they know, she could’ve been as grey in the face as we are,” replied Oria.

“The Maker’s bride, a Qunari? Sacrilege!” cried Irasae.

“You know what Mum says, grey is as grey does. Now, go. Take care of that magister before he burns the whole village down.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” she replied.

“Say hi to Bull for me, eh?”

“Will do.”

* * *

 

“Mother Giselle?” She greeted the cleric. The inside of the Chantry was warm and lit with many chandeliers and candles.

“Hello, Adaar. Might I borrow you for a moment?”

“If it’s quick,” replied Irasae.

“I heard you’ve recently returned from Redcliffe. Have you collected any herbs that you might be able to spare? My sisters and I are short on elfroot and spindle weed.”

“How much do you need?” she asked.

“We need a dozen or so poultices and potions for fatigue, as well as poppy oil.”

“I’ll see how much I have with me, and fill out a requisition for the remainder,” she promised. “I’m needed elsewhere, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Of course, herald,” said the Mother, smiling,

She stepped over the threshold into the makeshift War Room. Irasae found no trace of Dorian, nor had she seen him in the hall.

“Forgive the clutter, Adaar. I was just showing Leliana the finance ledger,” said Josephine.

“What’s going on? I heard Dorian was here, but I haven’t seen him.”

“You just missed him,” grumbled Cullen.

“Lord Pavus just gave us his account of Alexius. We wanted yours for comparison,” replied Leliana.

“I can scarcely believe the magister used ‘time travel’ to get to Redcliffe before us. That’s impossible!” said Cullen.

“The rifts I closed in the area confirmed that time was being altered,” said Irasae. She briefly described the effects and how the Mark had been nearly rejected.

“That is disturbing information. And there’s more. You’ve been sent an invitation, Adaar. It arrived from Redcliffe this morning,” said the spymaster. She passed Irasae the missive.

“Alexius wishes for another meeting with you. Alone,” said Josephine.

“That’s very blatant for a man who wants me dead,” replied Irasae.

"It would be suicide to send you there,” said Cullen.

“If what Dorian says is true, the Rebels are under Alexius’ thumb. He claims that they are indentured to Tevinter.”

“Until I see a document confirming such a transaction took place, it is hearsay,” replied Josephine. “For now, it is your word against his.”

“Regardless of the danger, I cannot leave a Tevinter threat on our doorstep, nor can I leave the mages to their mercy,” said Irasae.

“So we’re going to offer you to Alexius as bait? With no backup or an escape plan?” asked the Commander.

“Are there any hidden entrances that lead into Redcliffe castle?” Irasae asked Leliana.

“There is one,  through the old Redcliffe mill. Only the Arl’s family and the Hero of Ferelden and company know of it,” said Leliana. “It is small enough to slip my agents through undetected.”

“Why not give the magister the illusion of security?” asked Josephine. “If it appears that Adaar is alone, or otherwise with very few in her company, she will look far more vulnerable than she actually is.”

“The element of surprise may be enough to put him at your mercy, Adaar. If you’re lucky, you could even wrangle the mages from out of his hands.”

“You don’t have to risk your life on the chance that such a plan will succeed,” interjected Cullen. “We cannot in good consciousness order you to meet with the magister.”

“I made my decision when I left for Redcliffe the first time. See to it that your people are ready to carry out the operation,” Irasae said to Leliana.

“It will be done,” replied Leliana.

“The Commander and I will begin preparations for more barracks to be constructed for the mages,” said Josephine. Cullen nodded brusquely.

Irasae dismissed the meeting. Leliana pulled her aside before she could leave.

“There is another matter I wanted to bring to your attention.” Leliana handed Irasae a letter.

“Apparently, a spirit healer recently arrived at the Crossroads. Her name is Johanna Atwood, formerly of the Ostwick Circle. They are a very rare sect of mages who are very gifted and powerful.”

“You want me to try and recruit her?” asked Irasae. Leliana nodded.

“We have the Charger’s healer Stitches, Adan and Solas, of course, but no one with the level of specialization or time to dedicate to healing our wounded. The Inquisition desperately needs someone to fill the position.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Does Cullen know about this?” asked Irasae.

“Yes. I thought it unnecessary to mention it during the meeting. He was wound up enough already.”

“I see.”

“Walk cautiously, Adaar. I hear she is accompanied by a templar. I do not know much about them, nor their motives.”

“I’ll bring Bull with me. Is there anything else?”

“Not at the moment. I will let you know if there are any developments,” replied Leliana.

* * *

 

Irasae went back to her cabin to meditate for an hour. As usual, she found herself restless and in want of company. She made her ways around the grounds, checking in with her companions. Varric wasn’t available to chat with. He seemed very deep in conversation with another dwarf that Irasae didn’t know.

Outside the gates, a familiar face was waiting.

“Milady,” greeted Krem.

“Were you waiting for me?” she asked.

“Naw. Just got back from sparring to have a few nips to chase off the chill.”

“Whiskey?” she guessed.

“Is my breath that bad or does the wind carry up there?” asked Krem.

“Hard to tell one man’s stench from another when the cold kills the scent. You could smell like cologne and champagne and I would be none the wiser.”

“’tis whiskey. You’ve got good senses.” Krem handed her the skin. “It’s very strong,” he warned.

“I’m no lightweight,” she assured him, and tipped it back.

Her belly warmed instantly. A small pocket of giddiness burst open in her chest. The warning had been well warranted.

“I thought we were saving the swill for when Bull gets here?” she asked.

“I’m afraid the Chief is off, uh, passing time. I’m stuck with the paperwork tonight.”

“You always the one ending up with the desk work?”

“Well, I’ve got the clearest hand and I don’t scare off potential clients with threats to their ‘unmentionables’.”

“Reminds me of my band. Nothing like watching seduction with the clients, or reciting poetry while trying to hunt a wyvern.”

“Do you write?”

“I draw. Kaariss, one of my kith, writes like he’s going to die the next minute. He pisses off Shokrakar with his verses nearly all the time.”

“Do you draw people or nature?” he asked.

“Both. If someone with an interesting face passes me by, I can’t help but draw them when I have time.”

“There’s plenty of interesting faces here, milady. There’s no need for imagination,” said Krem.

“My pages have all been filled full with them. It keeps my mind busy when I don’t want to think about things.”

“I understand. I mean, I understand the stress somewhat, being a leader and all,” he said quickly.

“I’ve no doubt you do. The Chargers support is greatly welcomed. It keeps a little bit of familiarity near by.”

“You miss your team, yeah? If I’m completely honest, the Chargers have grown on me since Bull hired me. I can’t really imagine life without them,” he said.

“I was wondering how that happened, how a vint would willingly work for a qunari spy,” she said.

“He saved my life,” replied Krem. “I’d never met him before and he took me on. Even knew I was a deserter, and that didn’t change his mind.”

“You were on the run from the Tevinter army?”

“Didn’t have much choice. I almost made it across the border when they caught me. They intended to make a show of it all, to show the common folk what happens when you defy the mighty Tevinter. Had me on the tavern floor with the intent to finish me off—the tribune had a flail—“ Krem jerked his chin to the side, as if he was still waiting for impact “—then this great big horned _idiot_ dives in-between. When he finished them all off, he turned around and asked me if I was all right. Meanwhile his eye, well, he lost it.” Krem shook his head.

“After that, he patched me up and asked me if I was looking for work.”

“It takes a rare sort of person to lay down their life for a complete stranger,” she replied.

“He is,” asserted Krem. “That’s why he wanted to join the Inquisition.”

“To do the right thing? Not for glory or demons and dragons?” she asked.

“Might very well have been for the dragons as a side job. Sorry to lead you on there,” he teased.

“I’m used to it. I grew up with Oria,” said Irasae, chuckling.

“You said you drew landscapes as well? The Hinterlands is breathtaking,” he said, changing the subject.

“If you look at it just so, you don’t capture the fighting or the blood…it is very beautiful otherwise. Ferelden has regained some of its greenery since I was here last.”

“When was that?”

“In 31, right after the Blight. Most of the grass was dead, things didn’t really grow. Not even elfroot,” she replied.

Desolate, barren wasteland, her Papa had called it. The evil had greedily sucked all of the life out of the earth. The darkspawn horde had caused so much destruction.

“I’ve been practising at sketching snow instead,” she said.

“There’s plenty of it.” Krem wrinkled his brow as the stuff started to fall onto the tip of his nose. He brushed it away with ungloved fingers.

“Say, Krem?” Irasae took another sip of the whiskey before continuing. “Do you think you can sit still while you work? I haven’t drawn nearly enough outlanders.”

“Bored of your snow already, milady?” asked Krem.

“As you said, there are many interesting faces in Haven.” The drink was making her feel bold.

He accepted. Irasae handed back the swill and he dipped his head back to drink.

She wondered if his mouth tasted the same as hers, warm and tart. Thankfully, though she was tipsy, Irasae managed to keep that thought to herself.

* * *

Instead of the tavern, they ended up in a cabin just off the beaten path. It was quieter, more suitable for penmanship and concentration.

Irasae started to sketch Krem as he worked. She flickered between her subject and what was supposed to be his brow bone. He was deep into a contract, so his expression didn’t change much.

‘Do you always do this, draw portraits for someone?” he asked.

“No,” she said. A pregnant pause passed before she responded again. “Only for people I can like.”

“I’m honoured, milady,” he said, smiling.

“Stop moving,” she tutted.

“Sorry,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Bull seemed a better man in Krem’s eyes than Irasae had first thought. Taking that kind of risk for a Vint, someone he didn’t know, and still answering to the Qun at the end of the day? There must have been something remarkable Bull had seen in this man. Something that took more than eyes to recognize.

“Still making a study of my nose?” asked Krem.

She’d already drawn it. It was lumpy and disturbed near the top—a merc’s nose if there ever was one—from some tavern brawl, most likely.

“Your ears, actually,” she said. “I didn’t know human ears could bend outward.”

“I’ve wondered, are they that strange looking?”

“No, not at all,” said Irasae. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Can’t help but think they should be straighter, sometimes,” he admitted.

“I like them. Makes for a more interesting study than noses.”

“Yeah? Have you not drawn your own?” he teased.

"Maker’s ass, man, do you have any tact?” she jabbed the stick of charcoal in Krem’s direction.

“Sore subject?” he teased.

“If I were any other woman, I would have taken offence at you for bringing my beak into this,” she said.

“Didn’t know a nose could bend like that. Now I know better.”  


“Cheeky,” muttered Irasae, unable to keep the grin from her lips.

“S’ why the Chief keeps me on. I’m a good fighter and a jester on the side. Nothing keeps soldiers going like a good laugh, you know?”

_Nothing like a bit of judicious levity, right Adaar?_

“I’ll have to thank him for his foresight. Both the Chargers and the Inquisition are lucky to have you,” said Irasae.

“As we are to have you, Adaar.”

“I didn’t have much choice,” she said. “I hold the key that cannot be taken, otherwise I would have shouldered someone else with the burden.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t think I’m a coward for saying that?” she asked.

“True cowards hide the real reasons why they abandoned their post…takes one to know one, I suppose.”

Irasae focused on his lips, deep in thought. Did he truly think himself a coward, even after moving on and making a new life for himself? If what he’d said was true, that’d he’d been a victim of circumstance, why would he still hold himself accountable? Was there some deep seated love there for Tevinter?

“Do you miss Tevinter?” she asked.

“No. I miss my family, but I don’t give a shit about the rest of them.”

“Tell me about your family.”

“There were the four of us. My mother, my father, my older sister and me. Diana got the hell out of the house as soon as it was legal. She got assigned in the north with the women’s militia and sent money every month. We were never close, probably because we were too similar. Da was the peacekeeper who married a trouble-maker.”

“Your mother?”

“She couldn’t keep her mouth shut, she gossiped so much. Never made a compliment without an insult following it. We never got on, Maker knows I tried.”

“What did your Da do?”

“He was a tailor. On the side, he was a horse whisperer. No steed could resist him. Wish I’d inherited his touch. I know my stitches, but there was something magical about the way the beasts were drawn to him.”

“Magic may run in your veins, dormant,” she said.

“I hope not. For me, of course, there’s nothing wrong with mages otherwise.”

“Easy, I’m not easily spooked,” said Irasae. Krem rolled his eyes.

“I’ll keep that in mind, milady.”

“Fair’s fair,” she said. “I’ll tell you about my family. My blood family.”

“I know Oria is your sister.”

“The middle child, stuck between me and Eldan, the baby boy. Then there’s our Mum and Papa. He’s the one who took me to Ferelden.”

“Why?”

“My parents went through a lot of trouble to keep me out of the Circle. Papa especially. He had contacts further south and used them to help me find a former saarebas. That’s how I met Katoh.”

“Your mother is qunari, and your father is vashoth. From what I’ve heard from Bull, there’s quite a difference there.”

“They are very different. Mum came to Orlais to find herself. She met Papa, then they married soon after. It’s one of the reasons she left the Qun.”

“To be able to marry?”

“To be able to choose. One does not have autonomy under the Qun. The society decides your position, your identity, and breeds you for children to create labourers for other jobs. She wanted the right to choose.”

Irasae hadn’t received a response from her parents, but she’d only sent the letter one week ago. If it was coming, it would be soon.

The last time she’d been with them was on Wintersend, almost three months ago. It felt like a lifetime had passed. 

“Are you all right?” asked Krem. Without waiting for her to answer, he passed her the skin again.

“Yes,” she said. Nobody had asked her something so simple before, not since all of this had started. A simple ‘are you okay?’, an assurance of her wellbeing, had been ignored in favour of the Mark. The Mark can do this, the Mark is that—she drank before she could finish the thought.

_It’s not really you they need._

“Do you always drown yourself in hard liquor? It seems that you are, whenever I come around, at least,” she said. Irasae felt fuzzy.

“Just on days like today. It’s, uh, the anniversary of my desertion—or close to it,” he said.

Perhaps that was why he had willing shared his story with her. The memory and the whiskey were powerful forces fuelling Krem, making his lips looser and honest. Maybe it was the only way he knew how to air such feelings.

“To freedom,” she raised the whiskey before passing it to him.

“To be able to choose,” he replied, and drank.

* * *

“I’m finished.” Irasae held up the portrait. 

The jaw wasn’t quite right, nor the cheekbones. She thought she managed his eyes and their intensity. His moles were another feature Irasae spent plenty of time on. They spread across his visage like constellations, large and small, dark and light.

“It’s me,” he said. Krem’s face was surprised. He laughed. “Damn it all, you’ve got a magic touch!”

“It’s a bit loose…if I had more time, there would be fewer mistakes-“

“Don’t be so modest. You’re drawing a merc, not some lord.” His mouth was still hanging open. Irasae flushed.

“Can I keep this? Oh, and would you sign it?” he asked giddily.

“Um, sure,” she replied. Irasae quickly jotted her signature on the corner and rolled up the parchment.

“Thank you, milady.”

“Thank _you_ for the drinks and company. I needed it.”

“Everybody needs a good bender once in a while. When you get back from Redcliffe, I’ll save you a seat in the tavern.”

“When I come back, we can play a real game of Wicked Grace.”

“Bull said you were heading out day after tomorrow.”

“Can’t keep the magisters waiting,” she replied. “ _Oh_.” She stood, her vision wobbling in front of her.

“Not a lightweight, huh?”

“Are you gonna help me or nah?”she retorted, feeling her tongue thicken in her mouth.

“Aye, milady.” Seemingly less drunk than she was, Krem walked over and offered his arm.

He helped her down the snowy path and up through the gates.

“Good-night, Krem,” she said, when they reached the door of her cabin.

“Night,” he replied. He was still holding the sketch in his free hand as Irasae closed the door.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why, but Irasae always ends up drinking a lot. I think it has to do with being bored and cold when she's not out in the field, but damn. (Not trying to romanticize it, just mentioning that it's unusual, even for me, because I don't drink all that often)
> 
> Don't worry, they'll hang out while sober. Eventually. *cough Skyhold cough*


	15. XIV. The fault of fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irasae is sent through time to the future that could be.   
> Krem is left to contemplate the last moments of his life.
> 
> TW: Blood, death, decapitation, mentions of torture, mentions of self harm
> 
> POV switches between Irasae and Krem.

Irasae woke, trembling in her own sweat. There was no chill in her, just the shakes. She gritted her teeth as her side spasmed, the muscles responding to her fear.

Despair had been waiting for her in the Fade, on the dead hills of blighted Redcliffe. Its tattered rags hung from bony legs, having no face or expression except for the two beams of fade fire for eyes.

The landscape had seemed like a memory, perhaps one from ten years ago? It was just as vivid as all of her other mage dreams had been.

She’d been frozen with fear, the grime of dirt and blood on her skin. There was one method that could’ve allowed her to move, one with great repercussions in the presence of spirits and demons. Pain. Pain was both useful and dangerous. If you were to draw blood, it could attract more demonic attention.

Irasae recalled beating the flesh of her thigh with her clenched fist, the movement becoming easier as she had repeated the blows over and over. She’d had enough sense not to dig into the palms of her hands or scrape her forearms or even to bite.

She’d just barely broken free from her prison when a sharp blow had connected with the back of her skull—and she’d flown forwards. Irasae had woken then, her body still resisting the dream.

Her skin felt prickly. Irasae rubbed her arms feverishly, trying to make it stop.

Oria mumbled in her sleep beside her, completely undisturbed.

Irasae laid back down but could not sleep. Hours passed. She watched as the small sliver of dawn rose in the due east. Inch by inch, day came through the dark. Of course, she watched through the small window facing the break of the mountain peaks. The front windows were where the unnatural light of the Breach crept through. Night or day, it was a bright and constant green.

When there was just enough natural light, Irasae crawled out of bed. She dressed, gathering her pipe and her parchment at her desk. Her hand went across the page without thought. The demon still flickered in her mind, but it was not Despair that appeared on her sheet.

It must have been the whiskey, she thought. She was no longer drunk, yet there he was. Irasae recognized Krem’s countenance, the scar dragging across his brow, that easy smirk of his mouth.

She’d let him keep the first sketch. Irasae hoped he wouldn’t advertise the fact, or else she would be facing a mob of a different kind outside her door.  Souvenirs from the Herald of Andraste. Perish the thought.

He was a good man. For an abrupt hire, the Bull’s Chargers did their duty well. Accepting their offer to join the Inquisition was a partial rebellion against the Commander, who preferred full control over recruits and their training. Most of Cullen’s pickings were human and fereldan, and sometimes noble. The Chargers were dwarf, human, elf and qunari. She’d taken Bull at his word—a risky gamble— on a spy’s honesty.

She hoped his word was true, and that Krem’s admiration for his character was well founded. If the Chargers ended up leaving the Inquisition, Irasae would be short of a friend.

It was easy to be with him, she noted. Most often she wasn’t sober during those visits, so that could be colouring her judgement, but she liked him well enough. He seemed to enjoy her company too.

Be careful, she reminded herself. Mind the alcohol and the man giving it to you.

He’d been a gentleman last night, on the other hand. Only time would tell what kind of man he really was. The deeper you ventured within, the more faults  you were bound to find.

She supposed it hardly mattered, for now. He was a soldier under her command, and her drinking partner. It didn’t have to be more complicated than that.

Irasae looked down at the sketch. It was better than the one she’d produced the night before. She could see Krem grinning at her through the parchment. She could feel the warmth of her face from his teasing, the burn of the whiskey down her throat, pooling in her stomach.

Without thinking, she signed it and moved on to the stack of reports that Harding had left for her.

 _Requisition for steel great swords,_ read one. _Herb collection for Revered Mother,_ read another.

Irasae passed through them slowly, sorting them by importance and urgency. The pile she mentally dubbed ‘Post Redcliffe’ grew larger by the minute. ‘Pre-Redcliffe’ consisted of herb collecting and a quick cleaning of some gravestones near the Crossroads. The latter was a request from an older elven gentleman who had recognized her in Redcliffe. It was a small task, but she accepted the job with the assurance that fresh flowers would be placed on the stones thereafter.

Dorian had wondered why she not have an inquisition grunt do it for her.

She’d replied, _This herald dirties her own hands._

That was the attitude of the Valo-kas. You did what needed to be done, and you did it yourself. There was no time to wait around for someone else to do it for you. Therefore, if Irasae failed, it would fall on her head and not on anyone else’s.

By the time she’d finished sorting, it was early morning. Her stomach made a series of gurgling noises. The whiskey had dulled the hunger from yesterday, when supper had been scant without rams running about. That was the only benefit to making the journey through the Hinterlands. There was plenty of meat to go around.

Cold fingers pressed at her neck.

“Shit, Oria!” she hissed, batting her sister’s hands away.

“Sorry,” mumbled Oria, the warmer press of her lips at Irasae’s cheek. “Didja sleep?”

“Some,” she replied.

“Nightmares?”

“Yeah,” replied Irasae.

“Wake me next time,” said Oria.

“You needed to sleep too. You didn’t come in ‘till after I did.”

“I’m young and I can nap anytime. Wake me.” She admonished her.

“Fine, if you’ll take your frozen fingers off me.” Irasae retorted.

“Love you too, Sae,” replied Oria.

* * *

 

“So, Dorian,” Irasae greeted the magister. The group had saddled their horses and were waiting on a loose shoe on Bull’s Clydesdale. Eli sighed softly from beneath her, and Varric’s pony wickered in agreement.

“Yes?”

“Are you ready to confront Alexius?” she asked.

“I have been for some time,” said Dorian. “There’s several months worth of anger to account for, amongst other things.”

“I’m asking because if you suddenly go weak in the knees, or turn to his side—“ Irasae jerked her thumb in Bull’s direction, “He’s going to care of you with that axe of his.”

“I know you don’t trust me, Adaar, but I have no intention of serving some magister on his quest to destroy Thedas. If the security of his blade puts your mind at ease, fine, but he won’t need to use it,” replied Dorian.

“Good. I’ll take you on your word,” said Irasae. She reached into her saddle bag and pulled out a flask.

“What’s that?” asked Varric.

“Elfroot juice with some deep mushroom flakes. It’s my home-brew of mana restorative potion,” she said.

“That sounds disgusting,” replied Varric.

“The most useful things are.”

“Like the hangover cure Stitches makes,” said Bull.

“That’s supposed to be a poultice, Chief,” called Krem from the rear of the party. He, Skinner and Rocky were just about to go ahead of them to Radcliffe.

“Doesn’t matter so long as it’s in my gut and my head’s clear, Krem.”

“Oh, your guts are clear all right,” he yelled back, apparently having misheard. “From  the way you were blasting out of your arse last night!”

“Maker’s piss!” Varric managed to exclaim before bursting into peals of laughter.

“Dammit, Krem! You want me to come back there?” Bull yelled back.

“What?” She turned to see Krem cupping his ear, a very wide smirk on his face.

She rolled her eyes.

“Bull, so help me, if we have to delay any further because of your jabbering, I’ll have both your hides!” she said sharply. It was an empty threat. By the time she would be finished thrashing Bull, she wouldn’t have the strength to lay a finger on Krem, let alone to stand.

“Yes Ma’am,” said Bull. He turned back to Krem once more. “I’ll be talking to you when we finish negotiations, Krempuff.”

“Sure thing, Chief,” groaned Krem.

* * *

 

He never saw the end of the hoard. Insurmountable numbers came across the ground, seeking more blood to spill. Across the sky—what was left of it—was the Breach. 

Krem supposed the sky was gone now. There was no blue anymore, only green and black and blood. His brown skin was layers deep under dried demon ichor and blood.

There was no time to prepare. Demons came at every hour, and people were slaughtered as they drowned in the masses. You were lucky if you lived to take down more than one.

Krem had lost the sheath for his sword a while ago. He had no use for it,  for he never put his blade down since the onslaught had begun. He was the sword and shield. He was exhausted and afraid. He was the highest ranking of the original Inquisition troops still standing. So he would keep standing.

He screamed an order to Rocky, who blew the bastards sky high with a clever rig of explosives. Vints and demons were the same now. Krem felt the same pleasure cutting them down.

A bell tolled. The old parsonage had been transformed into a makeshift hospital, while the chantry eye sang endlessly with the sound of clanging metal. It was southern tradition to ring for the dead, he’d learned none too quickly.

Bull, Skinner and Grim were gone. The Chargers were his, the one connection Bull had left behind. There were no tears that he could remember. All the days and nights since the start of hell had bled together, cobbled and stitched like a nightmare. The grief was constant.

Krem roared and swung. Lust didn’t have time to screech as her throat ripped from her shoulders, head flung to the ground.

_There is no home to tempt me with._

Another came, but his voice erupted from within him before the Shade could scream.

_There is no one waiting for me on the other side._

Again.

_There is no one left to die for._

The chain that hung around his neck, protected under his chest plate, held a charred coin as its pendant. Melted and worn, only the tips of three fingers remained of the mark of the Herald.

_You died so quickly. Didn’t you deserve to suffer alongside the rest of us?_

Krem made a shield wall with two other soldiers. One drank hastily from a flask, the other bowed her head and prayed for strength before leaping to fight again.

_Bull went after you, even though you held no trust or faith in him._

_You killed him. You’ve damned us all to hell by taking the Mark with you. How could you be so fucking brave?_

_What do you have to say for yourself, Adaar?_

Krem pulled up his shield and rammed into another Shade.

“This, “ he screamed, “is for the Iron Bull!”

* * *

 

Krem grew weary yet his focus did not falter. Why couldn’t one of them just put him out of his misery, to finish it all?

Then, as night came again, the demons vanished. There was little darkness in the torn sky, but enough to warrant shadows against the lean-overs still standing.

_We are dying, the Commander had said once, but we can choose the outcome. We can stifle Corypheus, so that the rest of Thedas has the chance to fight back!_

Krem still didn’t know if he believed in the future, anymore than he did the Maker. He didn’t dream as he slept, nor did he ever rest.

_We are dying because of you._

_Why can’t I hate you for abandoning us?_

_You deserve to die alongside her, Corypheus. With you alive, I will not die._

“I will not die!” cried Krem. “I will out live you, no matter your immortality, your magic! I will not die!”

He choked back on a sob.

“I will not die.”

“ _Vashedan_ ,” exclaimed a voice. “Krem?”

Krem looked up through the bars of the cell. What he saw, _her_ , made him scoot towards the wall, his arms thrown up in a feeble attempt to protect himself.

“Oh, Krem,” the voice was soft. “Krem, it’s me.”

“Leave me alone,” he hissed, “Demon! I said leave me alone!”

Maker, had she always been that tall, with those piercing eyes? Krem bristled. It was a ploy, to see inside him and rip him apart with sweet words! What more could he be mined for? Once the Elder One had realized the connection between himself and Adaar was shallow, he’d become a ‘grower’.

That meant he was going to die in this cell a monster. He slowly felt his hardened skin, from the lyrium festering inside him. His body was weak. All energy that he received from food  and drink was instantly sapped by the parasite.

Perhaps they thought him far enough along to kill him. As long as the body was kept fresh, the Venatori could keep farming the corpses and grow their poison.

“What do you want?” he asked. “I’ve told you all I know about her, I swear it!”

“Krem, I’m real. Look at me,” it said.

“Prove it,” he spat back.

“All right. The night before we left for Redcliffe, we shared that skin of whiskey, remember? I told you I wasn’t a lightweight. I lied,” said the illusion.

“You said something else,” he said, drawing up that night readily from memory. It was the happiest night Krem could still remember, even though he spent it with _her_.

“Something about my face.”

“Your ears. I didn’t know human ears could bend that way,” she said.

“I gave you something, something that was given to me by the refugees,” he continued on. The questions were all he had to distract himself from the very convincing act.

“This—“ Adaar fumbled with her pockets. She held up a small coin deformed from its original facing. “It shows the Mark.” Adaar pulled off one of her  gloves, splaying her palm in-between the bars. Said Mark glowed in the dark of the cell. That was the final nail in the coffin. She was real. Adaar had never directly shown him the Mark. 

“Please, Krem, let me help you,” she said.

“Why? You’re supposed to be dead. The Inquisition already is, what is there to help?”

“Time has been altered-“ the mage at Adaar’s side started.

“Dorian. I’ll handle this,” she said. “Krem, we’ve come from the past, back from before Alexius took over.”

“It’s not him that’s taken over. He’s just the Elder One’s bitch,” said Krem. “He started growing lyrium inside of us just to appease him, to make more puppets for the Venatori to manipulate.”

“That bastard,” said, her voice falling to a hush.

“You said something about time,” asked Krem. Adaar nodded.

“We can prevent this from happening. We can stop the Elder One from taking over.”

“That’s very simple to accomplish, milady,” the old term of endearment  crossed his lips as naturally as it had before, in the past.

“Is it?” asked Dorian.

“Aye,” he said. “Don’t die.”

“You want to know why the Inquisition died, Adaar?” He continued,  “Because you are the Inquisition.  You went off and got yourself killed, and took the Mark with you.”

“Krem,” she said.

“Don’t start,” he snapped. “There’s nothing you can promise me that will undo all this. Nothing.”

“If you’ve given up on this world, I would advise that you don’t give up on the next,” said Dorian. “I say if we can corner Alexius and use that amulet, if he still possesses it, we can travel back and stop him.”

“It’s as good of a chance as we’ve got,” said Adaar. She glanced at him, piercing right through him. She forced her shoulder into the cell door, battering it once, twice, three times. With a grunt, Adaar burst through. “And you’re coming with us, Lieutenant.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I order you to!”

“On what authority?” he asked.

“I am the Inquisition, and I order you to stand and fight, soldier!” she exclaimed, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him up. Krem didn’t resist. It was clear she had no intention of letting go unless he stood.

“After all I’ve done for you,” he muttered.

“I didn’t take you for a man who was content to die rotting in prison when I hired you. Do you want to die here?”

“Hell no,” he said.

“Then we’ll find you a blade and a shield,” said Adaar. “One more thing.”

“What?”

“If hate is what keeps you going, feed it,” she said.

“Even if you’re the one I hate?” He fired back.

“Especially if it’s me,” replied Adaar.

* * *

 

Krem slammed into a soldier, his blade ripping through their abdomen. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. The crackle of lightening teased the air, glinting in the corners of his vision.

The wave of Venatori ended. Krem could smell burning flesh. It made the hunger in his belly awaken, demanding more.

“Are we clear?” asked Adaar. The lightening gathered at her stave and released through the base, seeking the ground.

“Clear,” he replied.

“Varric, Solas and Bull must be in the lower cells,” said Dorian.

“9:42 Dragon. He threw us forward a whole year,” exclaimed Adaar, sounding frustrated.

“Alexius was hasty. I imagine he was trying to remove you from time completely. Had I not intervened, he would have succeeded.”

“It’s so unreal,” said Adaar. “That magic could be used to change time, to tear holes in it. I mean, I thought the Breach was the worst possible extent of magical damage. I guess I thought wrong.”

They descended deeper into the castle. Adaar had called a bright green flame to an empty lantern, though there seemed to be plenty of torchlight already.

“Veilfire,” she explained. “It reveals runes and artifacts hidden to the naked eye.”

“That’s nearly useless, then. People started seeing things when the Breach ate the sky. No need for ‘veilfire’ to see the Fade,” said Krem.

“When the Breach ate the sky?” asked Dorian. “You mean?”

“The Breach is large, then?” Adaar asked Krem.

“It is everything, milady.”

“Then we must move quickly. The mark doesn’t feel unstable. I think that  means we have some time,” she said.

* * *

“Varric, you don’t know how glad I am to see you,” said Adaar.

“I wish I had a better line, but you are the last person in Thedas I expected to see,” he replied.

“I know. I’m going to make this right.”

“You’re not dead. That’s a damn good place to start.”

_If only you hadn’t bitten the dust in the first place, Krem thought. We wouldn’t be rotting in hell, wanting to die so badly that our souls would die with us._

Solas was inside the adjacent room, sitting cross-legged in the centre of the cell.

“Adaar!” He leapt to his feet. “You’ve come! You must find Leliana, if she still lives!”

“Thank _vashedan._ Come with us, Solas,” she said.

“You have a plan?” he asked.

“We get to Alexius, get his amulet, and travel back to the past—my present—to stop this future,” she replied.

“Then there is some hope. I will come with you and fight,” said Solas.

* * *

 

The spymaster hung from the ceiling. She was manacled on both wrists, the irons bolted with heavy chains. Her legs were pulled close to her body, the head of her torturer between her feet. 

She’d wretched it from his body, which lay on the floor.

“You’re alive,” whispered Leliana. Adaar moved quickly to remove the restraints. The head dropped to the ground, rolling away.

“I am, and I’m not going to die this time around,” said Adaar.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I have a plan, Leliana. It’d the only way to undo this.”

“You cannot undo suffering, Adaar. You cannot erase pain,” said Leliana. The skeletal structure of her face protruded from her expression. She’d been angry from a long time. That’s what got you through it all, thought Krem. It was all you had to hang on to.

“I know,” said Adaar. “But we must do what we can now to prevent more suffering and death.”

“Indeed. We must go, now,” she said.

“We have to look for Bull first.” Adaar protested.

“You won’t find him,” said Krem. “He went after you, the dead you. Followed you into the Void.

_It’s your fault._

“That’s why I’m the one left behind. You think they were keeping me here for show?”

_Because they knew I was close to you._

_Closer than the Iron Bull._

“And Oria?” she asked, her voice faltering.

“Oria, your advisors, Blackwall, Lady Vivienne, Sera, everyone. We all fell, for you. The Inquisition is dead.”

“Not while I still breathe,” said Adaar.

“There has been enough time for grief and despair,” said the spymaster. “I will take you to the magister.” Sister Nightingale looked at Krem, her eyes filled with fire. Many unspoken words passed between them.

_There may never be time for vengeance, he thought. The spymaster is hopeful, blinded by the same faith that sustained her through the last year._

Adaar turned towards him, her fist over her heart.

“Ataas shokra,” she said. Tears ran down her face. Krem felt like he’d been stung. The hatred he’d kept inside him boiled over, burning him. He felt ashamed.

He didn’t understand the words, but Krem didn’t need to. They weren’t for him. Maybe it was goodbye, or a prayer for the dead.

He crossed both arms over his chest, and said nothing.

* * *

 

The magister’s son Felix laid dead on the dais.The poor sot was finally free, now that Alexius was gone. His father’s corpse was across the room from him, healthily slashed and beaten. 

Adaar hadn’t stopped him when he’d stood over Alexius, taking what little vengeance he could.

There was little joy in beating a dead horse, as it were.

“I need time to perform the spell,” said Dorian, holding the amulet in his hands.

“How long?” asked Adaar.

 “An hour, maybe two.”

“An hour? You must go now!” cried Leliana. “The Elder One is coming!”

Something deep rumbled through the foundation of the castle, as if answering the spymaster.

“We can buy you more time,” said Krem. The words were out of his mouth before they were ever a thought. The shame had not faded. It pulsed like an open wound, painful and sore. He wasn’t even sure if he really wanted to die.

I will not die, he thought, not truly. If what Adaar says is true, the other me still lives. The other me will live a better life. He will not die.

“We may not be enough-” Varric started.

“We will have to be enough.” Solas interjected. He glanced over at Krem and nodded.

“I can’t send you out there to die, not if there’s another way,” said Adaar.

“Milady,” said Krem. He came close to her, as close as he dared, and stood in front of her. Krem reached for the amulet around his throat and gave it to her.

“This is what Bull died for,” he said. She opened it. The coin—what was left of it—fell into her palm.  It was a charred lump of metal. Had he lived longer, Bull probably would’ve grown attached to it. It was ugly, but it was still useful.

It was Krem’s last hand, his bargaining chip.

“And this is what I die for, Inquisitor.”

“You’re not going to die. Not really,” she said.

“That’s the other thing. Tell the other me that he has a debt to collect.”

Adaar nodded grimly.

“I will.”

Varric and Solas took their positions outside. He stood alongside Sister Nightingale inside the chamber, readying his shield.

Krem wasn’t sure what he should ready his mind for, the demons themselves or death.

Whichever came first, he decided. Demons, then. He had plenty of experience to fall back on. Until the mechanism worked, he would have to defend the two mages. He had to make sure they succeeded.

“I will not die.” He recited under his breath. “I will not die until they fix time.”

The minutes passed. He heard the shrieks and groans of the demons outside the doors. Krem looked back to Dorian and Adaar. Dorian held the amulet between them, speaking in fragmented Tevene and Common.

Leliana’s bow was strung, her hand laid tense against her thigh. She was waiting for the moment the doors would fall open, when she would leash the first arrow onto the hoard.

_There!_

The magister cried out in triumph, just as hell knocked down their doors. Krem could not see the bodies of his allies. He’d never gotten to see what became of Bull, either.

“Keep them off the Inquisitor!”  shouted Leliana.

He heard the jingle of a chain against plate, and he smiled. Everything around him drowned out. All he could see was his blade, singing and biting into demonic flesh. Ichor sprayed like confetti.

Krem grinned as he took off Envy’s head, a laugh drawn out of him as his shield was knocked from him.

Be it the fault of fate that the conclave didn’t kill Adaar, for they would live on.

 He felt the blood spray against his face, finding its way into his mouth. Krem was blinded. A great grip clenched his ribs through his armour. He had no more breath to laugh. 

Krem fell into the dark, his sword inside the chest of Pride. Whether he was afraid or not, he couldn’t tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've started working again, so it'll take me a while to acclimatize to my schedule. I'll try to update once a week.


	16. XV. Blurred lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2017 has been kicking the shit out of me, but I just want to let you guys know that I'm always working on this even when I'm not posting. It's never far from my mind.
> 
> Also, I really appreciate comments. Like a lot. I'd love to hear from you guys anytime.
> 
> tw. grief, panic attack, past death

Katoh bit the edge of the quill. Ink dripped onto her tunic, a steady _plip_ _plip_ echoing against walls of the cave. She had nearly completed her journey back to Orlais when she’d realized Shokrakar knew she was coming back home.

Her brothers and sisters had gone to separate places after they were delivered to Haven. Sata-kas returned to the Vashothari colonies near Ostagar, to see her family. Ashaad one and Two had wandered off together with the rest to Orlais. Katoh had planned to return with Adaar after the Conclave, as was their habit. Together.

She missed and worried for her. Her oldest student had never been far from her side for so long.

_“I need you to go back to Shokrakar. She needs to know what has happened here so that we can grieve our dead,” Adaar had placed two letters tied together into Katoh’s hands._

_“And if I stay?” she’d asked._

_“I’d rather they only have one mage to crucify if things go sideways. ‘When’ things go sideways, I mean. Considering my luck….”_

_“If they were willing to rescue us, they won’t turn to violence so easily.”_

_“I can’t trust the goodwill of an ex-templar, a Seeker and Sister Nightengale to last, Katoh. We can’t be dependent on them.”_

_“So you want me to tell Shokrakar that you intend to return to Orlais?”_

_“No. Tell her that after I close the Breach, I’m going to see my family.”_

_“I will,” she’d said._

She knew what she was supposed to write to Shokrakar. _I’m all right. I’m whole._ That wasn’t true. Grief was a shadow that did not disappear with the sun. Aban, her youngest apprentice, had only been sixteen when he’d died at the Conclave. Salit, Yeva and Maraas had all perished too, crumbling like dust.

Katoh had gone back to the wreckage before she left. There were no bodies, only crystallized skeletons gleaming with red lyrium. The Qun had taught that the body was of no consequence after death. Still it pained her that she could not take her comrades from this place and let them rest.

Shokrakar would see right through her, letter or no letter. Her kadan was rich in empathy as well as jokes.

Katoh thumbed the dragon tooth around her neck. Its sister was in her rucksack, strung on a cord. Shokrakar had mentioned the token in passing. She deserved more than a trinket to show the love they shared, of course, but Katoh was not good at describing feelings. She was good at instructing actions and prescribing remedies. Anything lacking emotion was simple for her to understand. That was why they were together. She didn’t have to understand if she had Shokrakar.

They weren’t supposed to have died. It struck fear inside her. Even now, it burned inside her chest. Panic bubbled to the surface to reach with choking hands.

Such magic was wrong. Unmaking was wrong.

She sat watched as the ink melted into a black puddle and tried to breathe.

One, two, three, four and hold….. Exhale one, two, three, four and hold….

_Asit tal-eb._ The old words floated into her mind. She had been free for years, yet they came back all the same. Katoh couldn’t forget the Qun, though it had forgotten her.

This was not the way things were meant to be. Maybe that had once been the truth. She had served the Qun with her silence and bondage. Her body had been the Qun’s, as had her magic. Then she’d broken her own mind and freed herself.

She could free herself from this panic. She would.

The moment Katoh had seen magic in the outside world, she’d begun to remember the lies the Tamasarans had told. That she was dangerous. That she was a _thing,_

a weapon. 

The South taught her about the individual self. Its chaos was because of such definitions of self, but it liberated Katoh. She was a person. She was a mage. She took the word that had bound her to her fate and retook it. _Saarebas_ became _Kosa,_ the mages of the vashothari. The free mages.

_Inhale one, two, three, four and hold…_

Katoh took the quill and wrote the first few words. She forced her hand to work harder, until they flowed onto the page.

_I am shaken and afraid…..so many of us are dead……I am coming to Orlais without Adaar…..she shall join us after she helps the Inquisition seal the Breach….._

_Ataas shokra._

That was her truth. Glorious struggle. The mantra was a reminder of it, what the Tamasarans called ‘the disquiet’.

Suckled on the breast of the Triumvirate, they’d had the doubts erased from their minds by the Reeducators. The Tamasarans never acknowledged the Tal’vashoth to the _imekari_ until they’d grown older. Struggle against the Qun was an ‘illusion’, therefore those who struggled against it were ‘deluded’.

Yet the Tal’vashoth always came to fight in Seheron, or fled for their lives to the South. Katoh had done so, with no care for her own life. 

Now she belonged to the Valo-kas, to the Vashothari, and to the Kosa. Her allegiances were spread across every facet of herself.That was what it meant to struggle, to live.In order to protect her kith and her daughter against the coming threats, she must turn her back on Adaar. Even at Adaar’s request, it was her choice.

Katoh wanted to feel the pulse of the air beneath her wings. She wanted to soar, to pretend she were free of obligation for a few hours.

She shot from the cave, her cloak tearing underneath the girth of two giant wings. A white griffin disappeared into the mist, her loud cry tearing into the sky.

* * *

 

“Johanna Atwood was nowhere in the Crossroads. Is your information stale?” asked Irasae.

“From what I understand, she is on her way to Haven, you worship.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“If you are to be Inquisitor, you will need a style,” replied Leliana.

“I’m not the Inquisitor. No one knighted me in the Fade for that, or is that what this is supposed to be?” Irasae waved the mark towards Leliana.

“Are you sure of that?”

“Yes. But I would also say that I am not opposed to continue offering my services, as was originally agreed before the Conclave. To protect the mages as a neutral party.”

“Of course you would. Why throw away perfectly good business?” Leliana snapped back. Her eyes were cold.

“Just say it then.”

“You are making a mistake, Adaar.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Your view is to needlessly risk your own life instead of taking a formal title for a position you already hold? Are you mad?”

“My life is my own concern, Leliana.”

"Maybe before the Conclave it was. Then you wedged yourself between the Breach and a future ruled by the Elder One. Now, you would selfishly push away your responsibilities because of your safety, instead of prioritizing the rest of Thedas?”

“I am not a saint! I am not holy, not a god nor sent by one, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about the world. I serve because I have to, not because I want to. In fact, you should be thanking me for not taking off like a coward the moment I woke up from the goddamn Fade!”

“Perhaps you should have, if the outcome were to be the same.”

“I should have torn up that bloody contract the moment I saw the sum you still haven't paid my company! But little good that would do, because I’m still here,” said Irasae.

“Do you believe you are here because of mere circumstance? That it just happened by chance and not by purpose?” cried Leliana. Her fists were clenched at her sides. A thrill rolled up Irasae’s spine. She had never heard the Spymaster raise her voice above an even tone.

"I don’t believe in faith or in your god. Whoever killed the Divine also killed my brothers, sisters and siblings. Don’t tell me that was all the will of your Maker to cover your guilt!”

  
“I am guilty! Is that what you want? Is that what you want me to confess?” Leliana pivoted on her heel, turning away from her. She shook violently, her shoulders rising and falling. The short, breathy gasps that Irasae heard were those of someone weeping. 

“You don’t need to confess anything. Forget I said anything about the money. Forget I said anything at all. I’ll be in the tavern,” said Irasae.

She walked out from the enclosure so quickly she bumped right into Charter, knocking her onto her backside.

“Sorry,” she said. She pulled the elf right up onto her feet with one arm, then sped to the tavern.

* * *

 

Irasae hesitated at the table. Flissa made her rounds on her side of the table first, as she usually did. 

“Your worship?” The voice was soft. “Are you all right?”

“I’m tired, Flissa. Just the weak swill, please,” she replied.

“Of course,” replied Flissa.

Irasae was aware of eyes on her from the other recruits. People were always watching. Being grey meant you were stared at, and at the same time, it meant you were ignored. Andrastians feared the possibility of the Qun seeping in, so much so they glossed over the staff Irasae carried with her. Another risk, but a necessary one.

Sometimes the templars were a reprieve to the zealots.

They were watching her for different reasons now. Herald or no herald, she was leading the Inquisition somewhere.

Irasae had no desire, and great repulsion, against leading this _thing_ she’d been buried in. Going out into the field and killing insurgents was kin enough to her work that she could forget about the real threat. The person behind the Breach and the Conclave. The moment of clarity after she’d walked through the atrium. It was strange. Irasae could recall the minutes before the explosion clearly. until she walked past the atrium. Then there was nothing. No blurred lines were there, like those in her childhood memories. It was cut out like mouldy bread, leaving only the edible crust behind. There was a before but no after.

That’s what Irasae was afraid of. If she was guilty, she wanted to be as far away from Haven as possible when it came to light.

_If_ , she thought, _then I will be the most hated woman in Thedas. I’ll be hunted like an animal._

Her skin prickled under her gloves. She pulled them off. The sweat of wearing them and the cold chaffed against her knuckles. They were darkened with irritation. She scratched at them.

“Hey.” Krem dropped into the seat across from her.

“You finished with the cleanup?”

“Helping build structures for the refugees, mostly, but I did shine a vase or six,” he said.

“Ah. The Good Soldier, are you?”

“I’m afraid you already took that spot. I’ll have to settle for your squire.”

“You’d be the Celio to my Nowhere Knight?” she asked.

“Even if it meant carrying the dark sword,” he replied.

“I lost count of how many times I read The Tales of the Nowhere Knight when I was younger. Wish I could read it again.”

“Irasae the Valient,” he said, smiling.

“I was five when I picked it.” She defended.

“You named yourself?” asked Krem.

“My mother refused to when we were born.”

“Is that a qunari thing?”

“Well, yes and no. To her, naming us was like deciding our fate. She couldn’t do it.”

“So you took a name from someone you admired. A Tevinter heroine.”

“She may have been written by a Vint, but she was from a different world.”

“It is a beautiful name, milady,” he said.

“Of course it is. I picked it, didn’t I?” Despite herself, she felt the blush spread across her face.

“Of course,” agreed Krem. He took long drink, but Irasae knew he was still smiling under his cup. Damn him.

“You know, my Da loved that story. Always used to say how it was a shame Ansuini never got to write a sequel.”

“Did he used to read to you?” she asked.

“Had to sneak it in after curfew and whisper. Mother thought it would put dangerous ideas in my mind.”

“My mom used to do the voices. Even for the steed, who didn't have lines,” said Irasae.

“You miss her,” he said.

“Always, but I’ve lived away from home a long time,” replied Irasae.

“How long?”

“Since I was sixteen. It was after I left that my parents were able to jumpstart the family business.”

“Merchants?”

“Yeah. Mostly we sell supplies and weapons to other mercs, and vitaar by the buckets. You can always count on vashothari coin for vitaar.”

“Bull told me it’s poisonous to everybody but qunari.”

“Just a brush and you’d be burnt like if you’d stuck your hand in the fire,” she said.

“That’s why you wear it around the eyes, to burn templars down with your stare,” said Krem.

“Something like that, I guess. But who isn’t staring back at me, Krem?” she asked.

“I don’t know, milady,” he said, looking confused.

Irasae downed her cup. The swill was weak and tasted like old water.

“My contract with the Inquisition is almost over,” she said. “After I close the Breach, I’m going home.”

“Are you coming back?” he asked.

“Not if there isn’t money in it,” she replied.

“What happened to helping people?”

“You think I’d stop helping people just because I leave this place? I’ve been helping adults with their shit since I was a kid. It doesn’t end. Ataas shokra and all that.”

“What does that mean?”

“Glorious struggle. There is always struggle. It’s no illusion.”

“You want to end this struggle by closing the Breach?” he asked.

“When I do, the mark might go away. The Inquisition will move on to research and recovery, and I’ll move on to other jobs,” she replied.

“Is this what you want? It’s not the Nightingale or the Commander’s idea?”

“Trust me, this is what’s right for everyone. Instead of playing the converted Herald of Andraste for all these nutjobs, they’ll have a proper human leader.”

“Just tell me when you’re planning to leave. I’ll get something special for closing the Breach.”

“Sounds good. Thanks.”

“Watch yourself in the pass. You know how cold it gets down there,” said Krem.

“I’ll have Oria with me,” she said.

“You’ll be watching her more than yourself.”

“As much as you’ve been watching me?” she asked.

“I-no.”

“And you’re just looking out for me because it looks good. Getting me drunk to spill all my secrets.”

“Maker, no, I swear that’s not it. I’m just concerned.”

“Why?”

Krem looked startled.

“Because we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“If it was the whisky, I’m sorry if I lead you on. There’s a lot of reasons I don’t have many friends.”

“Look, it doesn’t make a difference to me whether you’re grey or a mage.”

“You’re in the minority,” she said.

“Yes, well, around here, nobody has ever seen someone like you.”

“And I suppose you’re an expert on different because your chief is qunari?”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” he retorted.

"Maybe if you get me drunk enough, you’ll have a good time. I wasn’t born yesterday, Krem. Men try and pull the wool over my eyes all the time.”

“The hell?” he whispered. “You’re not some notch on my belt. I don’t do that to people.”

“I’ll take your word on it, but I can’t trust it.” She leaned back into her chair. “I never intended to get so comfortable with you. It isn’t fair to either of us.”

“I’m not that kind of man,” he said. “You can assume all you like, but I have never and will never… Forgive me if I’ve misunderstood, Adaar, but I genuinely look out for my comrades. I’d do the same for Bull or the Chargers.”

“You should keep away for a while if that’s really true, Lieutenant.” Irasae looked over her shoulder. Two scouts snapped their heads back towards their card game. Someone was always eavesdropping. “Who knows what they will all say after they hear I’m leaving? Some tevinter plot, no doubt in my mind. The Venatori have everything to do with the evil, as far as anyone knows. You’ll be roped into it.” she said, lowering her voice. “Also, tell Bull to keep an eye on the recruits coming in, if he isn’t already.“

“Are you?-right. Right, I’ll let the Chief know,” said Krem.

“I’m going out. I need to smoke,” she said, making a point to scrape her chair back loudly as she stood.

“Brandy, if you can manage it. I’ll keep in touch,” she said under her breath.

Krem turned and ordered another drink, pretending as if he hadn’t heard her. At least he caught on quick.

It would be better, she thought, if he knew that standing by her wasn’t good for either of them. Then his life wouldn’t be at risk of being lost a second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kosa: basically the collective term for vashoth mages
> 
> Vashothari: collective term for Vashoth and Tal'vashoth
> 
> imekari: child 
> 
> Asit tal-eb: the way things are meant to be. A qunari saying.


	17. XVI. Demon weed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of past death, blood, alcohol poisoning, cheating

_The Frostbacks, on the pass to Haven_

 

“Are you sure this is the right path?” asked Joha. The physician gave her a look.

“I know this place better than you do. We just passed the entrance to Orzammar passes the village,” said Xandra.

“It’s just that we’re running out of food, and I don’t think Taren can hold out on much longer,” replied the healer.

“I heard that, and I don’t agree,” said Taren. The dalish elf was holding up the rear of the party, picking at her teeth with a dagger.

“I can see the ram stuck in your gums, kid. You need to learn some self control,” retorted Xandra.

“I’m six and twenty, thank you very much!”

“Then act it. Please. Fighting is going to have us die of starvation before we reach the Inquisition,” said Joha.

“Not if the bears get to us first. I’ve killed enough of ‘em to know that much,” said Xandra.

“True,” replied Taren.

“Maker preserve me,” muttered Joha.

She’d known Xandra enough years to know that the bickering would never escalate. Joha often ended up playing the mediator between her and Taren. The woman loved to pick arguments, but usually it was in jest. She could fly off the handle then return to a neutral conversation, as if it were all an act.

The past six months had been an experience, to say the least. She was used to having only one close companion, only Roland. He was the only templar she’d ever known to turn his back on the Order, but not on his honour. He’d chosen justice over tradition.

If only he’d lived to see it.

Originally, she was supposed to have been there, at Haven. Then there was an outbreak of pox in the Hinterlands, which coincided with several possessions of non-mage folk. They’d had to quarantine the settlement. Both healers had had their work cut out for them. They were able to save most of the villagers. Taren had been one of the survivors, having contracted it while passing by the village. She’d become a fast friend.

Four weeks had gone by and the patients had barely recovered when the explosion happened. Suddenly, Rage and Desire walked amongst them. It was as if they’d been birthed from the ground, like Darkspawn.

The physical and supernatural were the two sides of the same coin. Within a person, and within the world. They were balanced on the razor’s edge, the thin Veil separating this world and the Fade. Demons saw the pox as a chink in the armour. Whether it was the Conclave or the outbreak that had punched the hole, no one cared. Quite frankly, the Breach was the hole everyone cared about now.

“Do you think anyone besides that qunari survived?” asked Taren.

“No one in the inner sanctum. Everyone else, the Left and Right Hands, were outside. It saved their lives,” replied Joha.

“Sounds suspicious to me. Their controversial leader is dead, and they’re alive and in power,” said Xandra.

“Maybe it’s a conspiracy. Maybe it”s just a tragedy. We can’t know for sure until we get there.”

“Your friend died up there, didn’t he?” asked Taren. “The templar?”

“Watch your mouth, kid.” Xandra warned.

“Yes. He did,” replied Joha. It felt like her mouth was filled with cotton. She took her canteen and took a small sip. The harsh wind whipped against her cheeks. It hadn’t snowed since they began their ascent up the Frostbacks, thank the Maker.

“See that over there?” Xandra pointed ahead of them. “That’s a Chantry trail marker. We’re close.”

“How are you supposed to see the markers if it snows too much? Won’t that cover them?” Taren went over and stood by the stone. “And someone took a dagger to the eye. Tried to carve it out, see?”

“Someone lacking love of the Chantry, no doubt,” replied Joha.

“Take a shot in the dark and you’re bound to hit someone who hates Andrastians, Joha,” said Xandra. “Your lot has made a lot of enemies.”

“I follow Andraste, and that doesn’t mean the Chantry has my love. Far from it,” replied the healer.

“It’s sort of like admiring the Dread Wolf’s deeds, but not following in his footsteps,” said Taren. “In a sense, I mean.”

 

“Whatever we may believe, we can agree on the Chantry’s wrongs. This summit was supposed to address all of that, to begin reconciliation. Someone didn’t want that to happen.”

“That would count the Empire, hands down,” said Xandra.

“And the templars,” muttered Taren.

“The Chantry,” agreed Joha.

“No, the templars. Guys!” cried Taren.

Two familiar sights stepped intotheir path. The raised sword crest was emblazoned onto their chest plates.

“What is your business here?” asked one.

“We are the healers the Left Hand sent for. I am Johanna Atwood of Ostwick. This is my partner, Xandra Cadash,” said Joha.

“What mage partners with a dwarf? asked the other, looking down her nose at Xandra.

“I’m a physician. I work with practical wounds,” replied the Xandra.

“And I’m supposed to take your word without some verification, mage?” asked the first.

“Of course not. I have all the missives from Sister Nightingale here.” Joha dug into her rucksack and pulled out the scrolls. She unwrapped the waterproof leather sealing and handed them to the templar.

“These seem to be in order. We will escort the two of you to the village. Your _friend_ is welcome to leave at her leisure,” he said.

“I have business with the Herald, shem,” said Taren.

“Well, doesn’t everyone?” sneered the woman.

“She’s with me, serrah. I can account for her goodwill,” said Joha.

“You know how the Dalish play their games, Serrah Atwood. Best not to leave it to chance.”

“If you dare to insinuate such again, _serrah_ , I _will_ be talking with your superior about your discriminatory behaviour. Now, instead of wasting more of our time, you will do as you are required, then you will leave.” said Joha.

“Are you ordering me, mage?”

“If you are the man you were when you vowed yourself to the Maker, serrah, I wouldn’t have to, would I?” The healer replied calmly.

“I-” the head Templar paused. “Follow me, mage,” he retorted gruffly.

“Are you just going to take that, Joiner?” cried the other templar.

“Shut up, Flint. I’m done arguing,” said Joiner. To his credit, he never did say another word to them.

* * *

 

“This is it? The Inquisition is a bunch of shacks and tents?” asked Taren.

“Don’t the Dalish have encampments?” replied Xandra.

“We have enough for just us. This is crowded,” she said.

“Overflowing,” agreed Joha. “There are refugees here.”

“Why here?”

“Because the Herald is here. Andraste had such followers too. They would wander behind her, hoping to witness a miracle or to brush against her and receive a bit of power.”

“That’s a load of bull. No person has that kind of power. Not even a mage like the Herald,” replied Xandra.

The Herald stood a head taller than everyone else. Joha had never seen such horns before. They were adorned with plated sheaths that ended with a sharp point, like a blade. Her dark hair contrasted the brightness of them. It was long, wound into a tight braid.

“She looks busy.”

Irasae Adaar was surrounded by people. Many of them seemed to be speaking at once. In fact, they were all mages. One was angrily pointing his finger towards the person at her side, a stern looking woman in armour. That had to be Cassandra Pentaghast, the Right Hand.

“We should find Sister Nightingale. I have a feeling our templar acquaintances have been bothering some other mages as well.”

“You certainly knew how to deal with them,” said Xandra.

“It is true what they say, that magic is to serve man, and not to rule over him. But the same can be true of pride. If your vices rule your head, you are just as dangerous as any abomination,” said Joha.

“Aye. Evil knows all,” said Xandra.

“I wonder if there are more of the people here,” said Taren.

_If any of them survived,_ thought Joha.

“Saw a few dwarves on the way in. Pretty diverse lot, this Inquisition, considering their herald.” Xandra gave Joha a long stare.“You look paler than usual, Joha.”

“Maybe we should find food first,” suggested Taren.

“Food sounds good.” Joha felt her stomach shift.

“I call the high seat,” said Xandra. She was off like a shot, Taren close behind her. Leave it to Xandra to sniff out the closest tavern within minutes of arriving.

* * *

“Tell me, Herald, where you are going to move us? We cannot be brushing elbows with the Order, we are the Free Mages!” cried the apostate.

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have room to move you right now. Haven is very full. As much as I agree with you, I can’t do much about the situation,” said Irasae.

“I thought you understood, being an apostate. But you _qunari_ want us watched!”

“I don’t answer to the Qun just because I have horns. And I’m telling you, as myself, that I don’t have the resources or space to put a rift between you and the Inquisition’s templars.”  


“Fine. Fine! I get it!” said the man.

“Then go. You need your strength and mana for the Breach,” said Irasae.

Were all other mages this exhausting?

“You handled that well, Adaar.” Cassandra reassured her.

“It doesn’t feel like I did,” she said.

“You told it as it is, just as you always have. It’s an admirable quality.”

“Would you say the same of yourself?”

“That would be egotistical of me, so I will refrain.”

“So you do have a sense of humour,” said Irasae.

“I wouldn’t call it that. I’m hardly any good at making anyone laugh,” said the Seeker.

“You haven’t found the right person, then. You’d be surprised.”

“I hope so. In any case, Adaar, you’re the one who has surprised me.”

“How so?”

“For someone opposed to become Inquisitor, you are very dedicated. I do not wish to quarrel with you about it, because I know that your decision is your own. I respect that,” said Cassandra.

“Thank you. I mean it. After what happened with Leliana…I wasn’t sure if I could come to you and Josephine about it,” said Irasae.

“She is very deep in her grief. Anger is a part of that. Most likely, she was angry long before she spoke to you.”

“I felt bad about it, even though I meant what I said. I’m not very good at dealing with people when they’re emotional like that,” replied Irasae.

“Neither am I. It takes a certain amount of grace that I find myself lacking.”

“Speaking of grace, could you speak to the Commander about the templars? I want to know exactly what’s happened to make the mages upset.”

“Of course, Adaar. I will get back to you when I know the situation,” said Cassandra.

The Seeker left. Truly, Irasae would never have pegged Cassandra to be an ally. They’d gone from hostility to geniality over the past months. She was thankful for it. It was a reprieve from the constant questioning of Irasae’s loyalties. She was one of the few people who understood that Irasae had no allegiance to the Qun, despite hiring Bull and saving the Valo-kas by influencing the Inquisition to do so.

The truth should have been obvious. She was a mage, and her kith tal’vashoth. However, the humans only saw the colour of her skin and the horns on her head. Beyond that, they could care less about the individual. It was ironic how hatred almost matched them to the Qunari in that belief.

Sometimes, it felt like everyone else was blinded by it. They had wanted her to be the villain so they could have vengeance. Now she was to become their saviour. The Elder One was the force that had claimed the Divine’s life, and now wanted the Empress Celene’s. That was not only a threat to the Chantry, and subsequently all of human Thedas, but to unseat the power of Orlais. That would open the floodgates to Tevinter, who would pour through like the pounding devastation of the ocean.

Tevinter, who cared for magic and blood enough to keep their people fightinga dead man’s war. And if Tevinter wasn’t keeping the Qunari in Seheron…no, their pride wouldn’t allow that.You could count on a Vint for their patriotism.

Irasae headed towards the apothecary. Dorian was staying the cabin adjacent, and Solas in the other.

Both men had keep their distance since they’d met. She hadn’t had reason to engage with Solas, but with Dorian…well, there was Redcliffe between them. Dorian had proved himself contrary to Alexius, his own teacher. He had helped her escape the future. Whether that was just to save his own skin or not, he hadn’t run from Haven. In fact, he’d asked her if he could stay.

There were things she needed to know. Irasae suspected he knew much more about The Elder One than he was letting on.

* * *

“Still your quill and come eat, Joha,” said Xandra. “Now.”

“It’s urgent,” she replied.

“So is the groaning I can hear coming from your gut. I’m not asking.”

“Fine. But I won’t waste an hour with you discussing poultices.”

“You started that conversation about Felandaris, not me.”

“That was Taren. She brought some of it with her,” said Joha, “It’s quite useful for staving a bleedingwound, as long as you don’t ingest it.”

“So she says,” replied Xandra.

“I applied it on that gouge I got from Envy. It worked very well.”

“You tried an experimental plant on yourself? What if it had poisoned you?” asked Xandra.

“I had the bitter cascara with me. If it did start to affect me, that would have emptied my guts right well,” replied Joha.

“You know, I’ve never met anyone who’d willing make themselves sick for the sake of curiosity.”

“I know. You’ve told me often enough.” John smiled.

“It’s reckless and stupid. You know how valuable your skills are.”

“As are yours, Xandra. I trusted that if I was mistaken, you’d do everything in your power to make me well again,” said Joha. “And I didn’t do it because I was curious. You remember that man that lost the leg, back in Ostagar?”

“I remember,” said Xandra. “I’d never seen a man bleed that much.”

“I never want to see that again. Not on my watch. I never want to see a man have to go through the agony of loosing his soul so the Darkspawn could drink his blood.

The first time she’d been outside of Ostwick, the Circle had sent her to provide relief to the fereldan tower, at the centre of Lake Calenhad. After, she’d sent a request to remain in Ferelden to help the people. 

They’d had no one. Many of their warriors were dead, but the few healers that remained there had either fled to Orlais and the Free Marches, or were stretched too thin to care for everyone.

She’d met Xandra in a village along the King’s Road. The physician had been treating a family for blight sickness. She’d called it a fool’s errand, but had stayed for almost two months by the time Joha and Roland had arrived.

It was the truth of a healer that you couldn’t save every patient you fought for. That’s why you fought with your teeth bared and resorted to using demon-weed on yourself, no matter the consequence to your own life. If it could spare another life, Joha would do it.

“I didn’t know it still bothered you,” said Xandra, her voice soft. Her hand reached to touch Joha’s.

“It’s strange, which deaths stay with you,” said Joha.

“The amount of it we see takes from us too. You could have asked me to test the herb.”

“I was careful.”

“You’re always careful, but you could make a mistake. Unless you’ve magically become perfect, you have to at least let me know,” said Xandra.

“I will. I’m sorry to have worried you, friend.”

“Don’t be sorry. Be careful. Be smart.” Xandra poured her a glass. The liquid was a soft pink.

“What is that?” asked Joha. The physician smiled.

“Rosewine. I may or may not have pinched a bottle from that Orlesian lady with the blue hair.”

“Blue hair?”

“In a certain light. Doesn’t matter. This is my favourite, you know. I’ve been thinking about this vintage since ’31. It will warm you up nicely.”

“Are you suggesting I need to be drunkright now, or are you ordering me to bed with it?”

“You catch on fast, dear. You haven’t slept right since we left Redcliffe.”

“It’s hard to when all you see are nightmares.”

“That’s why you need this. The drunker you are, the deeper and dreamless your sleep will be.” Xandra assured her.

Joha took a sip of it. It was pleasant and warm.

“I’ll need the whole bottle. It’s rather weak.”

“I’ll help you finish it,” said Xandra, grinning.

* * *

Irasae was fucking drunk. Her head felt so heavy, like a cannonball. If she dropped, it might split the table.

Once, when the two of them were on a ship to Orlais from Antiva, Oria had drawn up a list. It had begun with an empty bottle of Maraas-lok they’d found.

“You know how strong this is?” Oria had asked. She’d been eighteen, barely a merc. Papa had never let her touch a drop of anything stronger than wine.

“It puts the Void in your head,” she’d replied.

“So, that’d be really fucking drunk.”

Then they’d gone on. Butterfly was the first, faint and bright. The first time she’d ever drank, Irasae had snuck a bottle of wine from the Hahren’s cellar on her fourteenth birthday.It had been pretty and weak. Her tolerance for it had been much the same. She’d felt warm all over, calm in that way when you were sleepy.

She couldn’t remember the rest of the list, but she knew that she’d hit fucking a while ago. It wasn’t a level entirely related to sex, but similar in that it was difficult to stop once you started. That was the essence of fucking drunk; it was too much, yet not quite enough to kill you.

There was one above fucking that she wasn’t fond of. Irasae had only been blackout drunk a few times, but none were by accident. The hangover in the mornings (or afternoons) past had been the worst she’d lived through.

Her room wobbled around her. She was so wasted, exactly what she’d wanted.

Irasae was allowed to screw around. She was allowed to drink an exorbitant amount of alcohol after she’d fallen out of the Fade, and _then_ thrown through time to witness the end of the world.

She’d seen the people she’d gathered, her allies and advisors, rotting in a prison with lyrium growing through their skulls. That was the future that lay ahead if she failed. If she died, Thedas would be swallowed by the Breach.

And Krem. Fuck her. Fuck fuck fuck her, that Krem was _angry_. A spectre with red eyes, lips that had been drawn into an animalistic snarl. He had hunched back in that cell, afraid. He had been afraid of her.

Every wound he’d been given because of her failure had been ripped open.

_“This will never happen, I…”_ She remembered the word _promise_ had died in he back of her throat. So drunk was she, yet she clearly saw his face. His irises had been red, dead and gone. The only tether holding him to the physical world had been rage.

It was hard, so hard to reconcile what was and…what was. She’d returned to Haven to find everyone as she’d left them. Krem had followed her orders to track Tevinter insurgents and gather what information he could. He’d greeted her with a smile at the gates.

She’d resisted the urge to cry at the sight. No, she would’ve appeared a fool. A _ime-ime_ who couldn’t endure the job.

The pounding had travelled under her eyes. Her head was like a grenade with a burning fuse.

“Fuck,” she whispered. Her face was sticky. Humiliation burned through her like fire. Her face pulsed with pain.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Irasae’s face hit the wood, sliding onto her cheek from her tears. She wept into the wood, afraid.

This time it wasn’t going to be him. It wasn’t….

* * *

Oria watched Krem from her place in the tavern. Sera sat across from her, sharpening her arrow-heads.

“I wonder what she sees in him,” she said. She always wondered what went through her sister’s head.

“Who?” asked Sera.

“My sister in that vint,” said Oria, pointing her chin towards the lieutenant.

“I dunno what women see in men. I’m not that way myself, but she likes him,” said Sera.

“But why? He’s Tevinter, a deserter, and he works for a spy. Worst case scenario, he backstabs her both ways.”

“He’s not like that, though. Sure he’s got an accent, Buckles. Sure as shite he isn’t like that fancy pants that came here last week.”

“How do you know?’ asked Oria.

“I’ve known some right arses from every place. Bein’ a vint don’t make you a villain as much as the next guy, you know?”

“I guess.”

“I know,” repeated Sera. “You’re just worried about her.”

“Only because I know trouble finds her. It’s always been that way, no matter how careful we are.”

“So why not just let it happen? Sittin’ here waiting with your knickers in a twist doesn’t change that.”

“But I’m supposed to worry about it. I’m her sister,” said Oria.

“Shiny doesn’t like it when you’re all up in her face neither.” Sera scowled. “ I get that’s what sisters are like. But she doesn’t wanna share everythin’ with you, yeah?”

“I know. It’s just, ack, it’s so frustrating.”

“Let her have her fun with him. Don’t worry your head none about it.”Sera placed the finished arrows on the table. “Play Raven with me.”

“Sure.” Oria pulled her deck out of her pocket and shuffled the cards.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like him, right?” she asked.

“Nah. Now hush, let’s play!” Sera kicked up her feet onto the table. Oria knew she was in for a tough game. Her partner in crime had a tendency to bend the rules whenit didn’t go her way.

She still kept her eye on the merc that week. Oria had since he’d arrived. The same went for the Iron Bull, though he probably knew she was. Krem wasn’t ben-hassrath. Even if he did catch her staring, he was too busy running drill with the Chargers, or doing some watching of his own.

Either way, if he spurned Irasae like the last one had, he’d feel the same pain he’d caused, and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back in the swing of things, so I'll try to have chapter 17 ready for next week. Love you guys so much!


	18. XVII. The will of the Maker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw. mentions of past alcohol poisoning/consumption, tw. depression, tw. violence (brawling)
> 
> The day of the Breach being sealed draws nearer. Relationships are questioned and tested, as are loyalties.

Cole wandered the wreckage of stone. Some of it was the mountain, called from the ground to rise by the explosion. Some of it was pain humming in the torn walls. The red was screaming overtop the dead, but he ignored it.

Humouring the evil gave it power.

He felt the draw to return to Haven as strongly as he felt the hurt. Cole knew he could not stay,. He never stayed. No place belonged to him, nor he to it. 

The dead were dead but restless. Irasae was Irasae and alive, but through the dreams her agony shook him. She was the cipher through which he felt the mages. They said leaders were supposed to be that way.

He should go back. He needed to go back.

Cole’s eyes stung, as if he’d been crying. His throat was thick and aching. The dark started to grow around him, clouding his sight.

_It can’t be him….it can’t be… I did this. I will do it, and who will stop me?_

The thoughts flowed through him. He needed to hurry.

He climbed on to the horse he brought and whispered _go._ The mare understood. She went swiftly through the rubble and snow.

Cole found Irasae in her cabin, shivering in her chair. The hearth had no fire. He reached for her, but did not touch her. He tried to wind the fragments of thought through his fingers.

Drunk, he found. Drunk and sad and hopeless. Fucking drunk. Oria.

Where was her sister?

No. No sister. Alone. She wanted to be alone.

Cole grabbed the quilt off the bed and wrapped it around Irasae’s shoulders. He turned to the fireplace and lighted the kindle.

_You want to be alone to punish yourself. I understand, but you deserve better._

He knew that she could not hear him. Cole had reached deep enough inside of her to plant a seed. He hoped it would grow amongst the doubt and choke their weeds.

_Rest now. You will rise stronger. Maybe not tomorrow, but you will rise._

The darkness was lighter now. Most times, Cole couldn’t succeed in making it disappear completely. Sometimes it was needed.

He stood beside her until the bad thoughts had quieted. Cole didn’t need to make her forget him. It wasn’t time for her to know him beyond dreams. Not yet.

This creature would only show himself if she called on him. As he somewhat understood, that was the way the ‘Inquisition’ worked.

_I am the Inquisition, and I order you to stand and fight!_

The well of her mind had grown deeper. He did not need to reach to feel the emotion under the surface of the water. The Inquisition could not exist without her. The hurt in these people and in the sky couldn’t be healed if she died. She knew it.

There was resistance too. She wanted to go home. She wanted to leave, to run, to turn and kill anyone who would try and stop her. She wanted to forget. She wanted to live.

Cole knew that he had to stay here, with her. He wanted to help her and the people, but she had to accept his help.

He hoped that she would.

* * *

 

_ Cloudreach 9th, 9:41 Dragon _

 

“Boss,” said the Bull. 

“How are things?” asked Irasae. Bull tipped his head a little to the side.

“With the Chargers or with the recruits?”

“Either. Both. I don’t care,” she replied. Her head was pounding like a drum. Specific words could wait a few hours.

“Stitches says everyone is in fighting shape. Also, you know that that Johanna Atwood arrived last night?” asked Bull.

“I didn’t, actually,” she replied.

“They put her in the barracks with the mages. Her partner is Xandra Cadash, a field physician. Brought a dalish warrior with them too, Taren. Pretty calm, that lot, except when the dwarf likes to chew you up and spit you out over drinks. I think you’d like her.”

“I’ll have to see, won’t I?”

“Dunno what you’re asking me for, Boss. You seem up to speed most of the time,” said Bull.

“I realized we haven’t talked much,” said Irasae. That was on purpose. They both knew it.

“Well, you’ve spent so much time with my lieutenant, so I don’t blame you.”

“I’m not talking to you because of Krem. I’m genuinely interested.”

“Uh huh. You’re talking to me because you told him off,” he said.

“So he does tell you everything,” she said.

“Nah, he doesn’t need to say anything when you do,” he said.

_Fuck. Fuck shit fuck, why do I always set myself up? He’s Ben-hassrath!_

“I don’t know what was said, but I know that you don’t want to talk about shit. You just want to drink and play around. I get that.” Bull looked her up and down. “But you didn’t have a drinking buddy last night, did you?”

“That wasn’t drinking,” she said. It was drowning. 

“Maybe not. Maybe you want to take the piss out of yourself because of what you go through as our leader. That’s fine. But I care about Krem, and he gives plenty of damns about you.”

“Is that leading to a threat?”

“I’m just saying that playing around with someone’s feelings can land you another enemy, Adaar.”

She resisted the urge to shudder when the cold shock went through her. Her hand went to the locket, clenching it tightly.

“I have enough of them as it is. I’m not stupid,” she replied.

“Never said you were. You’re under pressure for results. So be careful who you’re shovelling your shit onto,” said Bull. His singular eye was bright, but the rest of his face said nothing but neutrality.

“I didn’t hire you for that _shit_. I hired you because you can kill _shit_. I already have three advisors that I didn’t ask for. If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it,” she said.

“Boss. Just remember what I said.”

“Fine,” said Irasae, scowling.

* * *

 

She went back to the cabin. Irasae could feel the steam pouring out her ears. The nerve of him! Did every one of her orderlies think she could be moved around like a rook? She wasn’t just an instrument of the Inquisition, or a naive child, for that matter. 

They all underestimated her. All the more reason to quit while she was ahead. Damn them and their ‘righteous cause’. Damn them all!’

Oria was waiting for her. Irasae’s things were spread across the desk. She’d been going through them.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Nothing,” replied Irasae. She felt herself starting to go white hot in her stomach. Breathe, one two three four…. and out….

“Was it Cremisius Aclassi?” asked Oria.

“No,” replied Irasae. _Was it that bloody obvious?_

“The last time you were this glum was after you sent him away.”

_Vashedan, am I an open book?_

“Is Sera your new pair of eyes?” Irasae wasn’t the only one watching

“Maybe.”

“I’ve already hired one spy and I have a spymaster. I don’t need you getting involved in that tripe.” said Irasae.

“I’m on your side.”

“If you’re really were, you’d listen to me.”

“Even if it’s in your best interest?”

“My best interest is my business. You think I’m not being careful enough?”

“No. _No_ , of course not. You’re just turning down the Inquisitor and flirting on the side like it doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’m aware, Oria. Can’t I keep my private and work lives separate?”

“I’m not sure you can, Sae.”

“Says who? You?” asked Irasae.

“I said I’m not sure. If you were Inquisitor, it would be different.”

“Different how?”

“Your authority would actually be legitimate.”

“Are you insinuating that it isn’t already?”

“I’m saying that you’re making a mistake by turning away, Sae,” said Oria.

“I will not head the Inquisition while I’m still called a spy or a heretic, and especially not if Leliana still thinks I’m her scapegoat,” retorted Irasae.

“Anyone with eyes knows those things aren’t true!” cried Oria.

“The world is filled with many people who don’t see, Oria. I won’t be Inquisitor, but if they need me that badly on the front lines, I can be their merc. I’m more useful to them on the ground than some _mage_ in a tower.”

“Well, if you won’t do it, maybe I will,” said Oria.

“Absolutely not,” replied Irasae.

“I can learn.” Her sister persisted. “I told you I wanted to be useful to you, remember?”

“You are not obligated to the Inquisition, or to me. Don’t sentence yourself to death by demons and politics.”

“What if I want to? What if I want to be the Herald of Andraste? I can handle the religious folk, and I speak _le petit_ orlesian, Rivaini, some Nevarren-”

“Oria, listen to me! You can’t do this, especially not in my name. If you really want to help me, go to Shokrakar in Orlais and stay there,” said Irasae.

“No, I won’t. I won’t leave you!”

“Yes,” snapped Irasae, “You will. The further away you are from Haven, the safer you’ll be.”

“Is that why you sent Katoh away? To keep her safe even if she didn’t want to be?”

“Katoh asked to go with the rest,” replied Irasae.

“So that’s it, then? You’re exiling me? Pushing me away has never helped you before, has it? What if what happened with _Collette_ happens again?

“I’m trying to keep you safe, and you spite me for it? You bring up _him_?!”

“Sae, please-” 

“Save your excuses, I’ve heard enough!”

"Sae-"

“Shut your fucking mouth. Speak of this again and I’llhave you chained in a wagon bound for Val Foret tomorrow!”

“You’re bluffing!” cried Oria.

“Why would I? You can hate me all you want, but I’ll do it.”

“You-you-you selfish bastard!” Oria lunged for her. Irasae hit the floor faster than she could register.

“Bastard, am I?” Irasae slapped her, using the shock to flip Oria under her.

Oria spat back, writhing under her. She kneed Irasae in the gut. Irasae felt the air wheeze out of her lungs.

“Let go of me!” she cried.

“You will go to Orlais!”

“NO!” Her sister used her whole weight to push Irasae off of her, and tried to move toward the hearth.

Irasae yanked her back by the ponytail. Oria screamed.

“You either go willingly, or I’ll knock you out and you go chained. Is that what you want?”

“No,” replied Oria. Irasae let go. Her sister fell onto the bed.

“I’m sorry,” said Irasae.

“No, you’re not.” A whimper came from Oria. “Why do you never play fair?”

“If I did, you think we’d still be here? The Maker and his holy will may have tried to stop me, but he can’t.”

“He didn’t do this, he couldn’t have…” said Oria.

“You have too much faith in a fairytale,” said Irasae. Her sister shook her head.

Stories had been their saving grace as children. Books took them from the reality of no money and little food to a better place.

Oria hadn’t grown out of the fiction that a benevolent God would right the wrongs. She’d eaten up the Chant and its promises, hook, line and sinker.

“The last time I saw you before the Conclave, you said you’d come home. I had to watch Mum and Papa when Shokrakar sent the news, that you’d blown up with the rest. Do you know how much pain we went through?”

“I lived, Oria. A Can’t you see that leaving the Inquisition will ensure that it won’t happen again?”

“How can I know that you won’t die again?” Streams of tears flooded down her face.

“I’m sorry I made you grieve for me. I’m so sorry,” she said. Irasae placed a hand on Oria’s shoulder. She resisted, so Irasae pulled back.

“I’ve kept you by my side since we were little. I was afraid something would happen to you if I took my eyes offof you, but I had to let go of that fear so I could grow up. And you know something, Oria? You, Mum and Eldan did just fine without me.”

“This is different than back then.” She insisted. “You aren’t helping us put all the money on the table.”

“You need to let me go, Oria. I can’t risk our family being dragged into this, and I can’t risk your life either.”

Oria sniffled and blew into her handkerchief.

“I’m going to sleep in the loft tonight,” said the rogue. She stood, walking past Irasae without looking at her. 

“I want an answer tomorrow,” called Irasae.

“Well, bully for you.” Irasae thought she heard Oria mutter.

* * *

 

_Cloudreach 10th , 9:41 Dragon_

 

“Are you prepared for this, Grand Enchanter?” asked Irasae.

“Please call me Fiona, Herald,” said Fiona. “ I believe we are.”

“Have their been any complaints of the templars?”

“Nothing but the usual grumbling. Commander Cullen has seen to that. I also wanted to ask about the tevinter mage.”

“Dorian?”

“Is it wise to keep him so close at hand?” asked Fiona.

“He’s killed plenty of Venatori, if it’s his loyalty you’re wondering about. He even went against his own teacher, a puppet of the Elder One, in order to save my life.”

“I see.” Fiona’s eyes had more questions in them, but she did not voice them. Irasae wondered if age taught restraint in that area. She hoped so. Running her mouth may have gotten her here, but it sure as hell had bit her in the ass plenty of times along the way.

“Never the less, we have felt very welcome amongst the Inquisition,” said Fiona.

“I’m glad to hear it,” replied Irasae.

They walked through the Chantry commons towards the War Room.

“We’re going to discuss formation for the sealing. You have several mages in mind to lead each company?”

“I drew up a list, as you suggested.” Fiona handed her the scroll.

“Good. Shall we?” Irasae held open the door for the mage.

* * *

 

_Later that day…_

 

Krem didn’t drink. He stared at his cup.

Why had Irasae staged an argument? Was she serious?

He’d meant what he’d said. Krem didn’t see her as some exotic creature, or a saviour come to save the day. Circumstance had drawn all of them here. She was just a person stuck in this situation that shouldn’t have happened.

She was his friend, wasn’t she? No one wanting to show their underbelly shared things about family. You didn’t drink hard liquor with just anyone.

The Chief had said that she didn’t want to be Inquisitor. That seemed odd for one so quick to take up the reins and lead. But then, Krem had only known her for a few months. Of course, the people who really knew her were her sister and her company. Neither of those two parties were at liberty to explain anything, if either were here.

Oria had been dispatched to the Hinterlands to help the few outlying mages get through the Frostback Pass. Beyond the Grand Enchanter and her advisors, Irasae hadn’t been seeing anyone. She’d kept to herself.

“I’d never try to pull the wool over your eyes. What the hell were you talking about?” he said under his breath.

He wasn’t sure what she’d meant by her ‘leading him on’ if they were just friends.Perhaps she meant something more than that…but if he read too far into it and assumed…

No, whatever Irasae had meant, Krem knew that she was pushing him away.

He knew how to take hint. Keep away. If she called him back, would he go back as her soldier, or as her friend? 

He hadn’t intended for it to seem like he was buttering her up that night. He’d thought what they had was an easy back and forth. Krem welcomed friends wherever he found them. He hadn’t given a second thought to sharing the whiskey. If she’d taken that as some insidious move on his part, he couldn’t have helped that. The fact was that he’d trusted her, he still did. 

Did she know that?

Krem pulled out the drawing from his copy of Hard in High town. He’d kept it unwrinkled as best he could, pressed between the pages.

She’d drawn him laughing. The corners of his eyes were crinkled, his lips tipped upward. Irasae had captured what he’d never seen in the mirror.

Perhaps he didn’t have to guess what she thought of him. He saw.

_Dimpled cheeks, hair just slightly mussed. Freckle-moles sprinkled like paint, a happy smile._

Whether that space between them was a green tear or stone wall, he would not be allowed to pass through if she couldn’t trust him. Krem wanted her to. He hadn’t realized just how much.

Her words had been half hearted and harsh, as if she was trying to make herself mean them. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to let him down hard. Maybe she didn’t know how to go about it any other way.

She’d liked him enough to try. That meant more than anything else she could have said.

The care in the strokes of the drawing had to have been thoughtful. Krem was no artist. He knew that underlying it, every trade held some will, be it passion for the craft or practise. Irasae may not treasure one drawing out of the many she’d created, but he did.

He’d try his damnedest to make sure she knew that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, I can finally seal that thing next chapter!


	19. XVIII. I hear the sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw. near death, mentions of past/recent abuse, blood, minor profanity, hypothermia

**_I hear the sea on the fevered wind,_ **

**_wailing for my grief and my pain._ **

 

**_I hear the sea in the tears that flow,_ **  
****

**_even though the sky does not weep for me._ **

**_I sing for you so that you may go back_ **

**_to the sea,_ **

**_the power that will take you from me._ **

 

**_\- Excerpt from_ ** **_“I hear the sea”_ ** **_by_** ** _Fr_** **é** ** _hel Bizet_**

 

**_∆_ **  
****

_7:00 a.m., Cloud reach 11_ _ th  _ _9:41 Dragon_

Oria returned around dawn. Apparently the loft she’d spent the night in had been the tavern’s. It was where Sera slept.

Of course, she’d reamed Irasae over the coals about being chummy with someone when she herself was spending the night in another bed.

Why was she allowed to spend time with Sera, but if she chose to see Krem, it was an arguable offence? What the hell wasn’t hypocritical about that?

Irasae had dumped and been dumped so many times, it had become old hat. In her experience, heartbreak was the easiest form of grief. You hadn’t truly lost someone if all you’d done was separate.

She was grieving for the Valo-kas too, she reminded herself. 

Grief heightened the tension. It made people angry, and anger made you say things you didn’t mean.

The problem was that Oria had meant what she said. So had Irasae. She wanted her sister safe, no matter if their relationship suffered for it.

If the Breach couldn’t be sealed in one attempt, Irasae would have to stay in Ferelden.

This would be the first time she’d even used magic to undo something equivalent to life or death. What if she was incapable, even with her allies at her side? What if it wasn’t possible?

Irasae could kill with magic or her bare hands. She could fight with a staff or bow. The one thing she wasn’t capable of was saving these people from their pain, even if she succeeded.

She couldn’t give Thedas the answers they wanted. She didn’t even know what those answers were herself. Only Leliana had knowledge close enough to the truth, but they weren’t on speaking terms, now were they?

_You’ve royally fucked up, Irasae, You really have, said the small, nagging voice._

_Shut up,_ she told herself.

Then the voice changed.

_How can I? You know me, darling, I’m right. I’m always right. I’m right about you being wrong._

_Shut up._

_Why don't you? How about you shut that big mouth and listen to me instead?_

_Shut the fuck up!_

_“_ I’m sorry!” cried a voice. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

A young dalish woman, perhaps Sera’s age, stood in the doorway.

“No. No, not you, I meant-“ Irasae started.

“No, it’s my fault, didn’t know this was the Herald’s place, I was-“

“Was daydreaming-“

“-Exploring!”

They both stared at each other for a long moment.

“I’m Taren, your worship,” she said finally. She stuck out her hand. Irasae stared at it dumbly.

“Adaar. Pleasure to meet you.” Irasae shook the small hand awkwardly.

“I was just taking a looksee around the place. Got a little lost, but the flat-ear on the other end told me where to look for you, so I did, er- I meant to knock. It’s what you do with doors, right?”

“Right, and Solas?” asked Irasae.

“Yes, Creators, he was handsome. I mean, for an old man. I don’t usually tell strangers who I fancy.”

Irasae caught a strong whiff of something from Taren’s breath. She’d inched closer as she’d spoken. 

“Are you high?” asked Irasae.

“Oh, yes. Laudanum. Broke a couple ribs fighting a bear. Xandra put it in a cup for me. Took the pain right out!” Taren beamed at Irasae.

“I’ll bet it did. You need some help finding your way back there?”

“That’d be nice. Everyone here has been so nice to me, especially that Solas.”

“Uh huh,” said Irasae. Helpful came to mind, but not nice. Solas looked out for himself, and scantly for everyone else.

That was probably the reason they didn’t get on, the more she thought about it.

Taren seemed to float beside her.

“So nice,” she muttered.

“How much did she give you?” asked Irasae.

“Dunno. Definitely had some good stuff in there besides.” She giggled.

Irasae guided Taren to the barracks, to the tentwitha sign propped up the front. No one was inside. Taren mumbled something about making rounds for records.

She watched as the woman curled up on a bedroll and fell asleep. Irasae felt a pang of envy go through her at the sight. To be able to dream so freely, without fear, was something Irasae hadn’t experienced in years.

Irasae left her there, retreating back to the warmth of her cabin. She could do with some more rest herself.

 

**_∆_ **

_8:30 a.m._

They sat in silence for a long while. Oria was making a point to stare intensely into the fire, or looking to other parts of the room. Anywhere but Irasae.

“I shouldn’t have laid a hand on you,” said Irasae.

The fight had burnt her. Irasae had never hit Oria in anger, not even when they’d fought in the past. Fuck, she’d made a point to never become physical. That was what scumbag fathers and drunks did to their loved ones.

God, she was repulsive. She was no better than scum.

“We’re both wrong, you know,” replied Oria. “It’s wrong you’re going and it’s wrong I’m going. We’re cowards.”

“I’m sorry. ”

“I understand,” replied Oria, too quickly.

“Do you?”

“I don’t have to like the fact, but I get it,” retorted Oria.

“That’s all I want,” said Irasae.

Her sister snorted.

“And you always get it.”

“If this is about Sera…” Irasae trailed off.

“I like Sera,” admitted Oria, “But that’s not what I meant.”

“You mean my ‘moral’ obligations to stay on with the Inquisition.”

“Yes.”

“My morals are not andrastian, Oria. We don’t want the same things.”

“What do the advisors want?”

“They want a herald, Oria. They want an icon, a leader of the faithful. A scapegoat.”

“If they wanted a scapegoat, they would have handed you over for trial and burnt you on a pyre by now,” replied Oria. “They don’t want to loose their chance.”

“To go down in history?”

“Maybe a legacy, maybe for justice. These aren’t vain people, Sae.”

“Vain, no. Crazy? Yes,” said Irasae.

“I understand that I can’t change your mind. Just be careful. Please.”

“I will.”

“Sae,” said Oria.

Her sister turned towards her. The fire flickered across the side of her face.

“I forgive you,” she said softly. “But I won’t ever forget.

“I know,” said Irasae.

“Just don’t die. I can’t forgive you for that, you know.”

“Vashedan, Oria. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.”

Oria’s expression was neutral, but her eyes had taken the snuff out of the fire. The brown had erupted into a molten fire, rumbling softly under the surface of her wide irises.

“Okay,” replied Irasae, with a lump in her throat.

  
****

**_∆_ **

_4:30 pm, The Chantry_

Irasae had requested that they have one final ‘rehearsal’ before the mission. They gathered the full group outside the Chantry.  
****

Most of it was spent on groundwork. Fiona, Cullen and Cassandra helped position the group. The ranks were made uniform, loose ends tied up.

Irasae had noticed some hackles were rising by the former Knight-captains presence in the exercise. She’dmade sure to make her rounds right behind him, inspecting the ranks and talking with Fiona.

“We’re all ready.” Fiona assured her.

“Then we don’t need to drag this out any longer. You’re all free to go,” Irasae said to the group.

Dorianapproached her as soon as the main group dispersed. She prepared herself for protests, since she’d placed him in a rather discreet rank. The tevinter’s arrival in camp had given her an earful of distaste from some of the enchanters. Stirring up too many emotions was a recipe for disaster. That was the exact opposite of what needed to happen. Irasae needed cooperation and power if she was going to see this through.

If that injured one man’s pride in doing so, so be it. He’d live.

“So, this is how we’re going to do this?” asked Dorian.  
****

“I’ve put you with the enchanters so you keep a low profile. The head will be comprised of me, two other senior enchanters, and Fiona.”

“What of Vivienne?”

“She is one of those senior, along with somebody from Calenhad.”

“And I’m being kept out of the front in order to avoid controversy,” said Dorian.

“Morale has to remain high. Trust me, it’s not personal.”

“No need to elaborate, Adaar. I am an expert on being discreet.”

“I won’t turn away anyone that can help close the Breach, especially not someone as capable as you,” replied Irasae.

“Are you always this charming with your other recruits?” he asked.

“Just with the specialty cases.”

“Oh, that does make me feel special.” Dorian rolled his eyes.

“It is quite the movement you have on your hands. Enchanter Vivienne for the traditionalists, Fiona for the revolutionaries, and me.” He continued.

“What do you stand for, Dorian?”

“Well, I would like for my southern brethren to enjoy the same freedoms my people do in Minrathous,” he replied.

“Autonomy,” said Irasae.

“Idealistically. No more templars making Tranquil of those they want punished. That mages be allowed to have families instead of the Southern Chantry taking their children away.”

“And trying to take children who became mages out of their existing families.”

“That too. Which brings me to my next question, where do you stand, Adaar?”

“I want what any apostate who hasn’t lost their head wants, to be able to walk freely in the streets without fear.To be able to choose,” said Irasae.

“To be able to choose between the Circle and another path?” asked Dorian.

“Or not to choose at all,” replied Irasae.

“And that means?”

“Exactly what I said. To not choose magic, even if you have the ability.”

“You can’t just ignore your nature.”

“Maybe not. But why should a child be ripped from their home to flee from the templars, when they were happiest in their own life? Why should they have to run at all?”

“I… suppose that they shouldn’t have to. I wouldn’t know any other way. I was bred to be an altus.”

“What does _altus_ mean?” she asked. The subject had grown to close to her. Shifting it back to him would make her lapse in conversation forgettable.

You didn’t need to be Dorian’s confidant to know that he loved to talk of Tevinter as much as he did himself.

“It’s just a fancy word for an upperclass mage. Right beneath us are the _laetan,_ the middle class mages, and then the _praeteri.”_ The way he said _us_ caused a wave of unease to go through her.

“What about non-mages? Say, the lieutenant of the Chargers?”

“Cremisius, correct? It’s an old name, which must be why he goes by Krem,” said Dorian.

“Why do you think that?”

“It’s a formal name. He likely inherited it from his father, as is tradition. If there is one thing all of Tevinter shares, it’s traditionalism.Even a _soporati_ values his roots.”

“Is that what you call everyone else?”

“Yes. Everyone else,” agreed Dorian.

“Out of all those mages, you have the most privilege, don’t you?”

“I did,” said Dorian. “I threw away my title and was disowned by my family. I won’t bore you with the details, but it caused quite the scandal.”

“Don’t I know about all about those.” Irasae sighed. Dorian smiled.

“Well, Herald, I’d say that you’ve thrown these people for more loops than the last Inquisitor did.”

Irasae scowled.

“Not you too,” she said.

“Ah. I see that conversation has already happened. You’re set on leaving, then?”

“Word travels fast around here.”

“Everyone is talking about you.”

“Let me tell you something, Dorian. You may like being the centre of something big like this, but I don’t. In fact, I hate it.If I don’t close the Breach, they’ll try me for the Divine’s death. If I fail, pretty much the same. I have no choice but to get on with it and get the hell out of here,” said Irasae.

“How do you cope under all that pressure?”asked Dorian.

“Knowing there’s an end in sight is good enough for me.”

“We don’t always get to decide that end,” replied Dorian.

“Regardless, I have nothing else to go on. It’s all or nothing.”

“The highest of stakes are perilous, but never boring. I look forward to working with you, Adaar, however short our time together is.”

 

**_∆_ **  
****

_Cloudreach 12_ _ th _ _, 9:41 Dragon_

Irasae felt the dread grow amongst the ranks of mages as they assembled outside the ruined temple.

She’d heard nerves described as snakes in one’s gut, or like butterflies. For her, it was lightening. Akin to the sensation of using its magic, it sharpened all worries and seared the inside of her mouth.

Now, she felt nothing. Her mind was empty. Maybe it was because she’d overslept. She’d spent the latter of the previous day in bed. Irasae had slept and slept and still, she felt tired. The edges of her consciousness felt unfocused.

It was the _something_ that she’d felt the first time she’d entered the temple. Something had been misplaced from its centre, not the destruction of the building or the heaviness of the carnage, but beyond it.

Before the Breach, that thing had been disturbed in the temple. Was it something she’d witnessed?Was it something she’d forgotten when was forced back out of the Fade?

It was another thing that had been taken from her. She could live without the memory of that day, but her freedom? No, she’d rather be dead than to be bound to anyone else’s way.

She was no Ameridan.

Irasae wanted to get as far away from Haven as possible after the main event.No matter what had happened in the atrium on the day of the Conclave, no matter the truth, she wanted no part of it. Irasae had had her fill of revolution. She was finished with the suspicion, the assumptions and the accusations. She was innocent. Innocent, and in danger of being made an example of if she succeeded, or if she failed.

Redcliffe on one hand, the Conclave on the other. Why was she being made to bear all this? Why was she leading these people at all?

She wanted her right to say _no_ back. Irasae wanted to be able to choose her own path, and to not give a damn what the rest of Thedas had to say about it. It was inherently selfish, and she knew it. That didn’t make her want it any less. The harder she had to fight for it, the more she wanted it.

But it wasn’t wrong to fight against the Inquisition for it. She’d been accosted the moment she woke up from the Fade, and pressured to become a symbol a dead saint who represented a god she didn’t believe existed. She’d felt obligated to help the Inquisition, so she’d given them allies and a direction.

Once you’ve given a parasite the taste of your blood, it will always lust for more. The only way to kill it is to wait until it’d fattened enough to pry it away from the skin, and kill it underfoot.

_Power, patience, and vengeance._

Once the ranks of mages had been made according to plan, they filed into the temple.

The tall pillar of the Breach glared green. It was hard to look at, similar to the sun in its power. Irasae focused on where it met the ground, a halo cresting the ground.

“We are ready, Adaar,” said Fiona. Vivienne said nothing, only casting a glance at Irasae. Masters of the Game could make subtlety say much without so much as a word.

Then, Madame de Fer nodded.

“Then let’s get this over with,” replied Irasae. “You know the signal?”

“We’ve rehearsed it,” said Fiona.

“Focus no further than Adaar! She needs your resolve and your mana to draw from.” Solas addressed the mages.

Irasae pulled off her glove. The mark glimmered bright.It was too bad something so beautiful was so unwanted.

She felt the magnetism of the Breach. The mark was being called. She raised her right hand and gave the signal. Lowering it, she raised the left.

The sixth sense of magic pulsed into the air. Irasae latched onto it, feeling the foreign presence of another’s power feed into her own. It burgeoned, the well of her mana begining to fill with it.

Her hand opened, and the mark made contact. A piercing column of light shot from it, connecting the Breach and her together.

Irasae pulled. She pushed into her capacity, pulling from the energy of the mages.

With a jolt of realization, she cried out as she felt it begin to give. Irasae pushed harder as the momentum built to give her more sway.

Then the lock clicked, and she was knocked off her feet.

 

**_∆_ **

The mages roared.

Cassandra was at her side, her hand on Irasae’s shoulder.

“You’ve done it,” she said. “Maker be praised, you did it.”

Irasae looked to the sky. It was white now instead of green and grey.

“I did,” she said, feeling more tired than she’d had in all her life.

**_∆_ **

_Midnight, Cloudreach 13_ _ th _

At first, Irasae wasn’t sure if she was awake. Her body felt weightless, unburdened and soft. Then her heart jumped back into beat.

The pain in her side burst. She tried to roll onto her back to relieve some of the pressure. It jostled her shoulder, which felt like a rock digging into her skin. She tried again. Again. Finally she rocked over, groaning.

She hoped that motherfucker and his red soldiers hadn’t followed her down through the hole. It was wishful thinking to think the avalanche had killed Corypheus when he’d had a _fucking_ _dragon_.

Irasae recognized his face, though it was like remembering a dream. She’d known the _thing_ he was, the look of the orb. He’d called the mark an anchor. Whatever its true name was, she’d stolen it from him. Somehow.

Her side screamed again. Her vision started to shake, the black closing in on her.

_No no no. Stay awake, Irasae. You stay awake now._

She felt a hand on her shoulder. There was no one there.

_‘There is a pass in the mountains, follow the tunnels’_ weren’t the vaguest directions she’d ever received, but that left much to the imagination. The passages could lead all throughout the underside of the mountain. What if they’d been infiltrated by the Red Templars?

She grabbed at a nearby boulder, trying to up to her feet. It took a long time. When she stood on her own feet, it felt like an age had passed.

_You must come. You can._

The voice died as the wind howled from the hole above her head.

“Cole,” she said. “Don’t just leave me here!”

There was no answer.

“Fuck!”

She managed a few steps before she had to stop again.

A staff was propped up against the stone wall. It was a plain spear headed model, reduced to becoming a cane in her hands.

Not fate. Providence. Isn’t that what Cassandra had said?

Cole had been provident. He’d known she could make it. The spirit-boy had prompted Roderick, of all people, to save them. He’d known the tunnels.The tunnels that had been a pilgrimage.

Fate didn’t have shit on life. Life was a tale constantly being written by it’s characters. Varric had said once that all the best books were just the authors recording the facts they had been told.

Irasae wasn’t going to let some hack, some god, tell her how her life was supposed to go. Whether he even existed or not, his believers made him real. Andraste had made him real.

That didn’t mean she was going to let some figment or his wannabe strike her down.

No god should rule, not the Maker, or that darkspawn bastard. She’d rather be dead than let him believe he was worthy of ruling over her.

**_∆_ **

She hobbled her way down the tunnel, falling and slipping and tripping. The staff was her only source of grounding, though it had little grip in the snow and wet rocks.

_The Herald forged her path back to the Inquisition gracefully. She was a lady, after all._

Irasae laughed. She’d have to tell Varric that when she made it back. He was most certainly writing about the shit that had happened in the last day. If he wasn’t, she would write it down herself.

She heard a crackling sound. The passage opened into a wider cave, bright with green light.

Two terror demons burst through the rift. Irasae tasted lightening in her mouth.

_I’m going to die,_ she thought.

The anchor flared. It wasn’t with pain, but with light. She felt the pull towards the rift. She had very little mana left. It wasn’t enough to take on two demons. If she could close the rift after what Corypheus had done to her hand…

Her whole palm was alight, the glow escaping from inside her glove. Irasae pulled it off and reached.

A burst of power flowed through her hand. A smaller rift bursted into existence and began to suck the demons into it. Irasae watched in semi-shock as they were eaten by it. Then it ate itself, disappearing with the same burst of light it had been birthed by.

_You can,_ the wind echoed.

**_∆_ **

She’d tracked them as far as she could, but the snow kept falling. It had eradicated the prints.Terror filled her in crescendos, melding with the pain.

Irasae kept moving. She followed the random scattering of kindling and dung that had been left behind. Those droppings had been almost completely covered, but stuck out of the snow like small eyes in the midst of the great whiteness.

The sky lightened from the dark to a dull grey. Beyond that, she couldn’t tell how long she’d been wandering. Minutes could have been hours. What she did know was that however long she’d been in the mountains, she couldn’t last much longer without heat.

She’d been rationing the one fatigue potion on her to keep the pain at bay. Irasae had to stop to catch her breath often. She was still shivering, which was a good thing. When she couldn’t feel the pain anymore, or the cold, death would come quickly.

Irasae knelt at what was left of a small fire. She felt the heat of the ashes-she hoped she did-through the numb of the cold.

She tried to stand again. Her bones wouldn’t move right. She wobbled out of her crouch onto her side, curling around the dying embers. For all she knew, she’d crushed Haven for dead embers and dead men who’d died in this cold.

Dead men and one dead Herald. She felt a small shiver go through her.

_You will rise, she thought. Cole, I can’t stand anymore. I can’t do this. I can’t._

Irasae could barely feel her fingers, never mind the rest of her.She knew what she’d done was right. Oria was safe with the Inquisition. So was Krem.

Why was she here? Why had she survived so many times, only to die here?

She pulled off her gloves. The anchor flickered dimly. It pulsed like a heartbeat, small ripples expanding and disappearing.

Irasae was damning all of them. Worse, she was taking their salvation with her.

_Do you hear the sea?_

_Irasae tried to turn from her place in front of the mirror. Her mum steered her back, her fingers still tangled in her daughter’s hair._

_No, mum. It’s far away, she replied._

_If you are far away from it and you can still hear the waves, do not run from it._

_What do you mean?_

_It is the sound you hear when your time is over, kadan. To ignore the end is to ignore the beginning, said Kerenza._

_I wish you were here with me. I don’t want to be alone, Mum._

Irasae had heard the sea once, just before the explosion.

**_I hear the sea…_ **

Irasae stood on the coast.There was the tinge of salt in the air, the sound of the water crashing and folding. She reached to undo her boots. Something smack her hands away.

_“You’ll freeze to death if you do that, milady.”_ The voice came in with the breeze. She could barely catch the words, they were so quiet.

“My feet hurt. The water will help,” she said. Her tongue felt heavy. She was speaking to the wind. It couldn’t answer.

_“The water?”_ came the question. An answer.

_“She’s hallucinating. We need to get her to camp now,”_ said someone.

“It’s just the seeeea,” she slurred.

Irasae felt her body leaving the water, rising.

**_…in the tears that flow-_ **

“You’ve got her?”

“Aye, Chief.”

“Got her staff. Let’s go!”

“Lemme go. I wanna go back,” she protested.

“Easy. Watch her horns.”

**_-even though the sky does not weep for me._ **

**“** Stay awake, Irasae. We’re here.”  
****

_Who?_

Before the close, the water chilled. The wind covered the sound of everything else, howling. She was sure she’d never be warm again. The cold was inside her bones and it would not let go.

She flailed her arms, trying to scratch at her sleeves.

_Get it out get it out getiout getioutgetit-_

“Can I give her the brandy?” The voice was louder, yet fading.

“She’ll choke. Wait until she stops seizing.”

She didn’t have anything left. Irasae had nothing. No control.

Her body stilled.

Something circular pressed against her mouth. The innate sense to suck loosened her lips.

Irasae suckled between taste and the lull of the dark. Citrus and spice filled her mouth.Then, like an infant tired of feeding, she fell away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this one would be bigger, but I had to split it in two because I got too overwhelmed editing it. 
> 
> Happy new year!


	20. XIX. The dawn comes quickly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw. grief, mention of frostbite, past death, vomit,

The snowflakes looked like jewels in her hair.

It was an absurd thing to notice as he laid Adaar on the cot. There was a moment before the healers descended upon her. It was too fast, and at the same time, too slow.

He brushed the hair from her ruined braid away. Joha had paid him no heed for such a gesture, but Xandra had. The stare was hardened, then it softened.

She looked younger without the tension in her face. Her hair hung loose from her ruined braid, long and dark. Krem wondered if all people looked so alien before death. He checked himself, uttering a curse. Adaar wasn’t dead. Stitches had continuously checked her pulse as they’d rushed her towards camp. She wasn’t gone.

Unkillable, he’d heard many amongst the Inquisition claim. Unstoppable.

He was surprised at how much they thought one woman could take. How easily people unloaded their cares at her feet, as if their livelihoods and their woes were her responsibility. _The Herald will surely save us, they thought, just look at what she did to the sky!_

Krem wasn’t in the habit of prayer. He had little faith except in the fact that there was some higher power. Still, the urge to whisper wards and wishes was as strong as his disbelief.

Not yet. Don’t take her yet.

Idly, he realized later, that he’d laid his own selfish care on Adaar’s life, just like all of them had.

Krem knew that there were some that only saw her through the mark’s lens. They would despair only ifit was lost to Corypheus, not giving a damn about Irasae Adaar herself. Now, that would change, with the Breach gone.

His face was slick with sweat as he staggered out of the tent. He wasn’t family, nor was he truly sure if Adaar counted him as a friend. It wasn’t his face she would want to wake up to.

Oria hadn’t returned from the other search party, having left just after Krem and the Chargers. She’d been stone faced when she destroyed a barrel on the way out of camp. Ale hand sunk into the snow, along with blood from her bare hands.

They’d never spoken before today. Today Oria had looked him in the eyes and told him to fuck off. She’d cussed him out in a harsh, guttural tongue that made Bull interfere. It was the first time Krem had heard the Chief speak qunlat aloud.

He didn’t want to know.

Krem had felt the weight of fear in his chest and of his heart struggling to beat in response. It was a stone pressing against his lungs, slowly deflating them until they crumpled under it. It was sharp bursts of realization, then falling retraction. There was no guarantee.

He wasn’t sure if he was underestimating her ability to live, or if he was being realistic.

His care was that she would live, to sit across from him and drink with him. . Then, he could see again through her eyes, and see himself as she saw him.

He wanted her to know him beyond the page. But Adaar would never go along with any way but her own.

A jarring sensation went through him, like electricity. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, even from beneath his armour.

Crying and whooping filled the air.They intertwined in such a cacophony that it infected the whole camp. Krem sunk into his bedroll, putting his head between his knees. The joy was unbearable.

 

**_∆_ **

 

Irasae was hurtling forward, bile falling from her mouth.

“Someone get the bucket!”

“Here.” Xandra pushed a pail beneath Irasae’s face and pulled her hair back.

Irasae heard the sound of her guts unravelling. She gripped the pail like her life depended on it.

She couldn’t keep down water.Joha fed her ice chips, with the instruction to suck on them slowly. It felt like she had only the strength to do that.

Sometimes she was awake, then she wasn’t. Irasae knew when she’d come back because she could hear someone sobbing. The dead couldn’t hear, after all.

 

**_∆_ **

 

It was early morning. Irasae felt like an oyster that’d had its innards scraped out.

Joha had allowed her to smoke some elfroot for the pain.

“I wouldn’t advise facing a god on your own again,” said the healer.

“That’s no god. Divinity isn’t supposed to fall for a bluff.”

“Ergo, he isn’t fully darkspawn either. What does that make him? An ancient abomination, perhaps?”

“A blight. Someone else’s mistake, a bastard, a maniac, a deluded man child, need I continue?” asked Irasae.

Joha laughed.

“I think you’re going to be all right, Adaar,” she replied.

“Good to hear.” Irasae tried to shift into a seated position. Her ribs felt like they were on fire.

Joha got behind her and rearranged the various bedrolls.

“How is that? Can you breathe?”

“Yeah,” Irasae groaned.“It’s when I move anything it starts to hurt again.”

“I don’t know how you made it as far as you did, with no mana! Maker’s breath.”

“I couldn’t tell you,” replied Irasae.

“One’s will to live is often stronger than death. That’s what my mentor used to say,” said Joha.

“I’d agree with them, but I’d need a drink first.”

Her ribs and lungs still felt hot from the pain, and she had enough bruising on the rest of her body to paint her blue all over. Not to mention that three of her broken toes were already blue from the frostbite. Irasae was glad the damage didn’t warrant losing any of her digits. Joha had routinely pushed magic through her feet to keep her blood moving when she’d passed out.

Thank _Anaan_ she hadn’t woken up with pieces of her missing.

“Here.” Joha passed her a cup. Irasae drank greedily.

“This is different from the stuff you gave me before,” remarked Irasae.

Joha frowned.

“This is from the same bottle.”

“It was sweeter. Tasted a bit like honey.”

“Perhaps the lieutenant gave you something when the Chargers brought you into camp,” suggested Joha.

“Krem brought me in?”

“He carried you into camp,” replied Joha.

_Brandy._

_Oh fuck me, she thought._

Irasae could’ve felt remorse, but she was tipsy. No, Irasae started to cry.

She must have looked so foolish, that she thought she could just walk away. The Venatori would have hunted her down, no matter if she’d gone as far as the Anderfels.

They’d been defenceless, and she’d waved the Anchor in Corypheus’s face. If she had left, Corypheus wouldn’t have attacked Haven. She wouldn’t have put everyone’s lives at risk.

“It wasn’t your fault,” said Joha. The healer patted her back awkwardly.

“I brought him here.”

“He came for the mark, a device which you did not ask for. You did all you could, your worship.”

“I don’t know I did,” said Irasae. She buried her face in her hands. “I never wanted this.”

There was a crashing sound from outside. Oria stumbled into the tent, her eyes puffy.

“I-sorry,” she said, flinching as the crashing continued.

“That wasn’t my table you knocked over, was it?” asked Joha.

“Sorry,” Oria repeated, her head hanging low.

“Aye, it was,” said Joha. The healer sighed. “Will you be all right? I only need to step out for a moment.”

“I’m fine,” replied Irasae. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t knock anything else over.”

Oria sniffled.

After Joha left, her sister shuffled towards the bed.

“Did you just get back?” asked Irasae.

“Yes.”

Oria sat on the corner of the cot.

“I went back to find you,” she said.

“To Haven?”

“It was all ash. Th-there was nothing. Nothing.” She clenched at the sheets.

“Were you alone?”

“No. Sera was with me.”

“Good.” Irasae let her hand fall in-between them. She hoped Oria would take it.“I’m glad you have someone when I’m not around.”

“Stop talking like you’re going to die. Stop it.” She repeated.

Her hand fell on top of Irasae’s.

“I’m sorry,” said Irasae. The tears were like standing outside in the rain. They didn’t belong to Irasae, yet they still fell on her cheeks, as cold as the snow.

“Your hand is so cold,” muttered Oria.

“It’s the Anchor, I think,” replied Irasae. “It’s changed.”

“How?”

Irasae described the fight with Corypheus, how he’d controlled the mark with an artifact. She recalled the despair demons, the rift that swallowed them then swallowed itself.

Oria took it in with a sense of weary relief. Irasae watched her face change from anger, to fear, then to relief.

“I swear to the Maker, when I get my hands on him, he’ll wish he was never born.”

“You’ll have to get in line,” said Irasae. Oria smiled weakly.

“And the rest of the Inquisition behind me. Coryphishit gained more enemiesyesterday than he’d had before.”

“Coryphishit?”

“It’s what Sera calls him,” said Oria.

“I like that.”

Oria leaned into Irasae, her head resting on her shoulder. It was an uncomfortable position, but she didn’t care.

“Oria.”

“Hm?”

“I think…I think I have to stay. How can I leave, now that they’ve all risked their necks for me?”

“They’d do it again, for their leader. You don’t have to fight a war by yourself.”

"I know, but what if I can’t kill him?” asked Irasae.

“He’s part darkspawn. If an Archdemon can be killed, so can he,” replied Oria.

“Coming from a dragon hunter, I suppose I should feel relieved.”

“That is my point, Sae.”

Oria reached for the bottle near the cot and drank.

“Oi, that’s laced,” warned Irasae.

“Oh. I can taste it. Here.”

“Honestly,” she muttered, drinking herself.

Even with the tang of camomile and opium, Irasae could only recall the taste of honeysuckle. It was imprinted on her tongue.

She let her fingers drift through Oria’s short hair. The silence came invited, creating a small pocket of peace. Irasae fell into a restful sleep.

 

**_∆_ **

 

Irasae was atop a peak. The Frostbacks looked almost tranquil from a higher perch, all white and gleaming from the sun.

She walked along the pass, unafraid.

Two figures passed below her. Solas and Cole.

“What of the orb?” Irasae heard Solas ask.

“He doesn’t know how to use it. He blames Adaar, hates her for it,” replied Cole.

“An unfortunate consequence of her obtaining the mark, but one we can use to our advantage. Let him be confused by it. Let him project his anger onto the Inquisition. He will start to make more mistakes.”

Solas looked up, and gazed right through her. 

“You cannot see as I see. His anger is like a monster’s, not a child’s,” said Cole.

“Then we shall handle him as such. We must kill him.”

“You mean she must kill him.”

“It would be a fitting end, to be killed by his only enemy.”

“She is afraid, Solas. So afraid.”

“However many personal demons Adaar needs to rid herself of that fear, I will leave to you. You can help her.”

“She must want my help,” said Cole.

“I suppose now that Roderick is dead, you might find others to assist in the meantime,” suggested Solas.

“Yes,” agreed Cole.

Just as Solas had, Cole looked up the mountain. He saw her and raised a hand.

“Who are you waving at?” asked Solas.

“My friend. You know the winter birds that nest in the cold?” asked Cole.

“I did not. Tell me of them,” replied Solas.

 

**_∆_ **

 

Irasae groaned. The dream was clear in her mind. It had felt like she’d been on that peak. She even felt the wind through her hair…

Dream Solas hadn’t seen her. But if what Solas said was true, that he could walk through his own dreams with full consciousness, was that what she’d been doing? Had she encountered both Solas and Cole in the Fade?

Did that mean dream logic applied, that she couldn’t be seen by Solas, but by Cole?

However she could have projected herself into the Fade with full awareness, she couldn’t begin to guess. Perhaps Cole had some abilities to do so, or Solas did. But that didn’t make sense, if he couldn’t see her…

The orb. The fucking orb. Solas had mentioned an artifact from the day of the explosion.

Vashedan, she was too tired for this. She’d have to ask Solas herself, later. Later…

 

**_∆_ **

 

_Cloudreach 13_ _ th _ _, 7:00 p.m._

“Sae,” whispered Oria. “Sae, I have something for you.”

“For what?” Irasae whispered back.

Oria reached into her pockets and pulled outa small pouch.

“Happy birthday,” she said.

It was a small, oval stone, nearly perfect in shape.The surface was warm, as though it had never been touched by the freezing cold all around them.

“Is it the thirteenth?” she asked.

“I know you don’t like a big fuss every year, but I found it in the Dales. Look.” Oria blew softly over the rock. A small whooshing sound echoed back.

“It’s like a seashell. Hold it up to your ear,” said Oria. Irasae pulled off her gloves, to feel the warmth in both hands. Light pulsed from the Anchor, flowing into the stone. It amplified the light like a prism, transforming it as it came outwards on the other side.

Oria gasped in pure delight.

“It spells out something,” remarked Irasae. She angled it towards the side of the tent.

The language wasn’t any Irasae recognized.Some ancient script, or a coded message, left in stone?

“You said it was from the Dales?”

“Maybe it’s elven? An artifact of a past age?” Oria grinned.

“I wonder what it says, or who it was for?”

“It takes what you give it, and can store information. If we could find more of this ancient technology, wait!”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Irasae, smiling. If such a small thing could change Oria from melancholy to joy, it was something valuable, regardless of its use.

Oria pulled a small notebook out of her pocket and began to write.

“Capable of taking sound, energy and light, in order to store or project information,” she muttered.

“Can I keep it?” asked Irasae.

“It’s a gift. I’ll just have to keep close so I can document its use. For research.”

“For research, of course.”

Irasae replaced her gloves and the stone to its pouch.

“You know, this probably would have been the worst birthday I’d ever had, if not for this. Thank you,” she said.

“Well, I doubt your twenty-ninth could top this,” teased Oria.

“Shut up. That makes me feel old.”

“Thirty isn’t that old.” Joha poked her head into the tent. “Happy birthday, your worship.”

“Might as well let the whole camp know if they’re going to eavesdrop,” said Irasae.

“I only caught the bit about being old and thought to defend it.”

“And you would know?” teased Irasae.

“I have learned that age tends to indicate less and less, the older one gets,” said Joha.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” said Irasae.

“It’s nothing, Adaar. I’m glad to see you in better spirits,” said Joha.

 

**_∆_ **

After a days worth of rest, Irasae couldn’t stay still. It was painful to remain stagnant, more so than moving about. If anything the constant watch she kept about camp distracted her from her injuries.

She managed to pull on both of her boots unaided. Her teeth gritted, she’d pulled them over her broken toes. There wasn’t much Joha could have done with them. There were no splints that could straighten them, besides menial bandages, so Irasae bore it.

Walking, she had to keep her torso straight. Any twist or turn aggravated her ribs and was hell itself.

To keep herself mobile, Irasae had loaded her pipe bag with elf root and willowbark. The hangover she was nursing had turned her off to medicating with more swill, so she played with the mixture of herbs to her liking.

She was aware of the soldiers watching her, of the salutes and the bowing. Even the nods in her direction seemed to imply too much, as if she were owed great respect.

There was no guidebook to thwarting false archdeacons and gods. The Grey Wardens kept their ways to themselves, and even so, it was not her life’s work. No warden had fallen from the Fade and lived. No warden was hunted as a political criminal from Halamshiral to Kirkwall.

She didn’t deserve more praise or respect than anyone else here. She had done what was necessary, was surrounded by those who had done the same. The Inquisition’s blacksmiths, their stableboys, their soldiers, the laundry maids, the bartenders, and far more than Irasae could ever name enabled their survival.

All she’d done was wave the little green bastard in Coryphishit’s face, and se’d been beaten within an inch of her life for it.

That was no tale of a champion.

She didn’t want to take the narrow path that lead uphill. She didn’t want the power of rank over these people. Those who did were corrupt, seeking what was always out of reach.

Did she have a choice, as she’d believed so earnestly a few days ago?

Irasae knew that there was, but that one way vastly outweighed the other. If she took what she wanted, she would threaten not just her life, but her family’s. The other hand held protection, responsibility, and yes, power. The power of change.

Wasn’t that what she had always wanted?

_But what’s stopping you?_

“Cole,” she said. “I know you’re there.”

“Dreams tell as little truth as lies. Usually,” he said.

“Was it real? My dream?” she asked.

“It was the Fade,” replied Cole.

“Why couldn’t Solas see me?”

“I can change things. I can make people forget, you see.”

“You made him forget he’d seen me?” asked Irasae.

“Yes. I wanted you to hear what he would say, when he thought you were not there.”

“Because he doesn’t trust me,” retorted Irasae.

“It isn’t about trust. It’s about secrets. There are things I cannot see in him, like they are covered by blinding light. It’s the same when I look at you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” replied Cole.

Irasae snorted. _No matter how much I pry, we always go in circles!_

“Where is Solas now?” she asked.

“At the edge of the camp. He wanted to speak with you about the resting place,” said Cole.

“That’s where we’re bound? The place the spirits know of, where they rest?”

“So you do know. Yes, but it is not just a place for spirits. There is a fortress to the North. A place for the people,” said Cole. “Solas knows more of it.”

“Near the edge of the cliff, you said?”

The spirit boy nodded.

“Don’t cause trouble or I’ll keep an eye on you,” warned Irasae.

“I won’t,” he replied, his brim tipping over his eyes.

Then he was gone.

**_∆_ **

 

In the end, her feet had lost all ability to move without seizing by the time she’d made it back to the barracks. It was there amongst the mages that she learned the ‘flat-ear apostate’ had left with a scouting party half an hour before.

Irasae groaned.

_Did no one think to tell me?_

_Are you someone who needs to be told of such things? You’re just the Herald, and your job is over, remember?_

She peeled off her boots. Irasae sent a little mana to her soles to keep them warm as she removed her woollen stockings.

Irasae could smell the rot of her toes.Instead of grey, they were speckled with black and blue.As long as her feet got her to where she needed to be, she didn’t care for how they looked, but _damn_.

“Adaar?” Krem poked his head out of a nearby tent.

_Oh shit._

“Hi,” she said.

Her legs were splayed to allow her toes proper circulation. Irasae was sitting so properly,it was as if she was corseted and had a pole up her ass to keep her spine straight.

She was the picture of elegance.

“Hullo,” he replied. Krem was dressed down. Irasae had never seen him outside his armour. Instead he wore a coat and trousers that look unsuited to the weather.

She shifted a little across the bench to make room for him, then winced.

“You stay where you are. You’re injured,” he chastised her.

“No shit,” she said, through gritted teeth.

He sat beside her.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” she asked.

“Stunning. I’m surprised you’re already putting ‘em to work,” said Krem.

“I can’t stay in bed while we’re marooned in the mountains,” replied Irasae.

“We’re aren’t marooned if we have a place to go, milady.”

“So everyone knows.”

“About Skyhold? It was the only thing keeping morale afloat, until we found you,” he said.

“Until you carried me into camp, you mean,” said Irasae.

“I did,” replied Krem.

“I wanted to thank you, and to apologize.”

“For what? Almost dying?” teased Krem.

“No, that’s old hat. I meant when we talked last, I said things I didn’t mean. I made assumptions about you and your intentions.”

“There _were_ spies in the room,” he replied.

“That’s besides the point,” she said. “You didn’t deserve to be treated as though _you_ were the spy. I’m sorry, Krem.”

“I forgive you,” he replied.

“It’s-” she stopped herself. "Thank you."

"No need."

There was a pregnant pause.

“It’s hard for most people to understand why I don’t just let them walk into my life. There have been times when I was used by those I’d called my friends. They only left if they’d gotten what they wanted, or if they’d gotten bored of the novelty of my company.”

Krem shook his head.

“I know what that’s like, sort of. When I was still in Tevinter, I could only trust myself. It wasn’t until I joined the Chargers that I felt I was with folks who would come through for me.”

“I’d been with my kith for ten years. When the conclave happened, I-I couldn’t believe that everyone was dead.”

She felt the tears rise again. For fuck’s sake, hadn’t she cried enough? Hadn’t she grieved enough?

“Hey.” She felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder. Krem said nothing more, his thumb idly stroking back and forth.

 “They thought I did it. How could I have?” She dug into her pockets for the spare bandages Joha had given her. Irasae blotted away the tears with them.

“Everyone here believes in your innocence,” said Krem. “Aside from the spies.”

“Yes, besides them.” Irasae couldn’t help but laugh.

“Though Bull would be the exception to that.”

“You should’ve heard what he said to me before I closed the Breach,” she said.

“About what?”

“You. He said that if I played around with your feelings, I’d be sorry.”

“Of course he did, the big arse.” Krem groaned, “All I said was that I hadn’t seen you in a few days, and he’s off making assumptions.”

“But he was right. I was trying to push you away.”

The sea was pushing down on her, crushing the air in her lungs. Irasae couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of anything but red. Red eyes and lyrium and the screaming- _This is what Bull died for! This is what I die for!_

“You’re in danger when you’re by me. You risked your life for me, died for me, and you don’t even know that you’ve done it,” she said.

“I’m not dead, milady. I’m here,” he said.

She cried a little longer, fighting to regain her composure. When she’d managed to gain some of her wits back, Irasae started again.

“I need to tell you about what happened at Redcliffe,” she said. “About the future I saw.”

It came like a flood, the worst hours of that day coming back with clarity.

She had told her advisors only what was prevalent to the mission, about the assassination of the Empress and the invasion of the South. This part of the nightmare had been kept away, hidden deep inside of her.

As she spoke, Irasae removed the locket from her neck. She pressed it into Krem’s hand.

“You deserve to know what could happen. You deserve to know the risks.”

He was silent as he opened the locket. His brow furrowed as he examined the two coins.

“I gave this to you, didn’t I?” he asked.

“The you from the future did too. He took it back from Bull after Bull took it from my remains,” she replied, shaking her head.

“Maker’s piss,” he swore.

“I’m indebted to you.”

“If anything, it’s the other way around, milady. Kaffas, you kept this to yourselfsince you recruited the Mages?”

Irasae nodded sheepishly. His left hand was still at her back, warm against the cold.

“There is no debt,” he declared.

“But-” she protested.

“Even if there was, you’ve paid it back with interest by undoing that fate…no one should have to do that.”

“Fucking time magic bullshit,” she declared.

“Fucking time magic bullshit,” he agreed. “That’s why we’re here, you know. To help sort out the bullshit.”

“I can’t even walk across camp by myself. The Maker be damned if I wanted pity for it, because I don’t.”She laughed in exhaustion.

“It isn’t pitiful, milady. It’s strong.”

“No, it’s just the herbs I’ve been smoking,” she said.

That made him smile. His eyes crinkled around the corners, grinning as brilliantly as his mouth.

“I’m serious. I’ve gone through all of my pipe bag.”

“We don’t even know, do we?” he asked.

“Know what?” she asked.

“How bloody lucky we are to have you,” replied Krem.

Irasae couldn’t respond. She felt grounded to the earth, tied up by the emotions gathering inside her.

“You’d better have luck on your side,  _crème de menthe._ I don’t have any to spare,” she managed to say.

Krem’s nose wrinkled at the nickname.

“ _Really_?” he asked.

His face made her want to draw him again. Irasae reached for the sketchpad, which she always kept in her jacket pocket. It wasn’t there.

A pang of loss went through her. It had been left on her beside table, in Haven.

It would be easily replaced, she thought, for how could anyone have the right to look as radiant as Krem did? Irasae had never recorded a face that employed all its expressions with so many layers of depth. 

All Krem had to do was quirk a scarred eyebrow or the corner of his lips, and the small expanse of her breath was gone.If only she had canvas and paint!

“Milady? Are you there?” he asked.

“What?” she blurted out.

“Is there something on my face?”

“No. I was just thinking,” replied Irasae.

“It was an awfully long time,” said Krem.

“You are an insufferable shit, you know that?” she retorted.

“Oh, I know.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   


	21. XX. Quid pro quo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw. mention of past death/murder,

“So. You and the Boss are talking again,” said Bull.

“She’s walking with those ribs,” said Krem.

“Just like she did through the Pass and the storm.”

“She’s impossible.”

Adaar had looked so _small_ , lying in the ashes. Her face had been covered in them, as though she’d tried to smother the warmth into her body.

And the blood, blood so dark when it stained the snow it was black.

People who lost that much blood didn’t usually survive.

“Andraste’s chosen, huh?” muttered Bull.

“You know she hates being called that,” said Krem.

“You don’t think so?”

“I don’t know if I even believe in the Maker,” admitted Krem.

He’d accepted the teachings of the Chantry in childhood. There had been his mother, teaching him prayers by his bedside.Every Sunday they’d attend service and sing the hymns and listen to the Fathers preach.

As Krem had grown older,what he was being taught and what he knew to be true were at odds with one another.

“Either way, they all believe something’s on her side. Something more powerful than she is, ” said Bull.

“They can believe what they want, so long as it’s quiet.”

“If she’s not Andraste’s chosen, what is she? A survivor at the wrong place and the wrong time, or a cohort to Corypheus?”

“Those aren’t the only two options,” argued Krem.

“They’re the most obvious. Black and white, Krem, that’s how the common man thinks. Whether she likes it or not, Adaar is being kept safe by the belief that she is chosen.”

“So there’s no room for the grey space in-between?”

“Yeah. There’s no room for the grey one’s,” replied Bull. “She’ll have to make her own way, with or without the Inquisition.”

“It’s too dangerous for her to leave.”

“If she wants to leave, she’ll leave, no matter if she thinks the stakes are worse.”

_Maker, he thought, what if she leaves because of me?_

“She told me something…about what happened in Redcliffe,” he said.

“Time travel?” The Iron Bull scoffed. “I don’t doubt it.”

“She saw what happened to us, Chief,” replied Krem.

Krem relayed the story in parts, leaving out the emotion in his retelling. Adaar treated Bull with cool indifference. Krem suspected she didn’t want the Chief to know she was broken over it.

Bull swore.“The ancient magister’s didn’t even know what would happen to them,” said Krem.

“Doesn’t bear thinking about anymore. She and that vint stopped it.” replied Bull.

“It doesn’t mean nothing!” cried Krem.

“Never said it did. Living with the past isn’t the same as living in it. Or, living with the future…in the past…gah.”

“At least we won’t be facing that demon army.”

“We better not be, boy, or you’ll be going it alone,” retorted Bull.

“Always knew you’d have my back, Chief.”

 

**_∆_ **

Shokrakar’s fire was blazing hot. Her years in Qunandar had disadvantaged her when she had first come to the South. She’d always been cold, shivering in her leathers and coats.

Kadan always kept the fires going in the house so she didn’t have to use magic.

Shokrakar wasn’t in the main room, or the bedroom. That left the office. It was just a desk in the corner, near the back door. She sat there when she read correspondence, her jacket and shoes within reach in case she needed to drop everything she was doing.

When Katoh found her, she was writing. Several broken quills littered the desktop and the floor. The open letter from the Adaar laid beside her.

“Did Kerenza write?” asked Katoh.

“She did. Asked me to pass it along to the Inquisition so Adaar will actually get it.”

“Someone stole the last one?”

“Apparently these ‘Venatori’ have spies in the post. Makes me shiver to think ofthat many Vints hiding in plain sight,” replied Shokrakar.

Katoh hooked her fingers under the collar of Shokrakar’s shirt.

“The Nightingale will ruin them when she finds them,” she murmured.

“What’s stopping her from taking a bite out of Adaar?”

“Because they need her.She’s too valuable to the cause, whatever the Nightingale does or doesn’t know.”

Shokrakar was silent. The sound of the quill scratching continued.

“If she hadn’t fought for the right to search…kadan, what would I have said to the Elders?” asked Shokrakar.

“What you had to.”

“I couldn’t comfort them when we lost our own.”

The quill stopped. Shokrakar stood.

“I’m going out,” she said, grabbing her coat. “Read that other letter. The one with the blue seal.”

“Kadan-“

“It’s all right. I just need to clear my head.”

“All right,” Katoh replied.

 

**_∆_ **

Katoh lit the pipe as she translated the letter. The handwriting was orlesian.

_My dear Labelle,_

_As you know well, I have plans to visit the Inquisition stronghold, once they’ve settled properly._

_Of course, once Irasae establishes herself, we can move ahead with the course of the relationship. Given that our acquaintances in Lydes are so eager to know her, perhaps an arrangement can be made that pleases us both._

_My dear, I love you so much. I love you more than all the holes in the sky, more than the number of zeroes I’ve spent, more than the will of the Maker._

_I will write again soon, my love._

_Yours,_

_Collette_

 

The door swung open with a bang.

“He’s finally coming!” said Shokrakar. “Sorry.”

“He really doesn’t spare any, what’s the word…there are too many in Common,” replied Katoh.

“Frills? Paraphernalia? Bullshit?” Shokrakar listed off, assuccinct as a dictionary.

“What does the second one mean?”

“The trappings associated with a particular institution or activity that are regarded as superfluous.”

“Ah, well I suppose I like bullshit better.”

“Kerenza has done all the work, maintaining the ruse. ‘Labelle’ wasnothing short of a sap in her reply.” said Shokrakar.

“She knows the Game and Lord Collette better than we do. Should I send this to Nightingale?”

“No need, Kerenza has already written to Adaar.”

“She won’t be happy.”

“Who likes handling this kind of business? It’s financially and morally detrimental. She knows we can’t let him get away with this unpunished. Not after what he did,” replied Shokrakar.

“I know,” replied Katoh.

“Have I paid seven lives for one, kadan?”

“Corypheus killed our kith, not you.”

“I sent them there to get on the Nightingale’s good side. Look what came of it.”

“Look what Adaar has done. We can find justice if she continues on with them.”

“Will she? She doesn’t take orders from any human. You know she only takes them from me because I’ve saved her ass enough times.”

“She hasn’t forgotten our kith…or Asaara.”

Their lost child’s name came out a strained whisper.She would have been thirty.

“That’s what we all are fighting for. They were willing to put down their lives for our family.”

 Katoh held her. No answer would satisfy their grief. She felt it growing inside her, responding to Shokrakar.

Why wasn’t there an answer?

 

**_∆_ **

They wrote and wrote for the better part of that next morning. The result was a stack of letters, their arsenal against what was going to come.

“Here’s the problem. I need to be in _Tal-Kost_ in a fortnight, and we don’t know exactly where the Inquisition is ,” said Shokrakar.

“I’ll go and find them,” said Katoh. “Unless you need me to go with you.”

“Go find your apprentice, kadan,” said Shokrakar.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go.”

Shokrakar looked down at the letter on the desk. Ink was smudged along her hand, but the words were clear.

Hopefully it made its way through Adaar’s thick skull.

 

**_∆_ **

The ascent to Skyhold was slow and tedious.

She led in the front alongside Solas.Through their sparse conversation, one thought lingered.

_He knew that such a weapon existed._

Through the veil of a ‘myth’, he’d told her the foci was elven, a remnant of Arlathan. How Corypheus had come to possess it, no one knew.

An enemy in possession of the orb of destruction was bad enough, but one who didn’t even know how to use the artifact properly? Corypheus was dangerous regardless of his intentions.

It was only from her dream in the pass that she suspected Solas was concealing _more_ information. He was siphoning it to Irasae, offering crumbs from the loaf he hid behind his back.

What was motivating him to do so?

She had to know why Corypheus had done it. She had to know what her kith had been sacrificed for.

How deluded had Irasae been, to think that she could get out and that they wouldn’t haunt her? That the Inquisition would let her go? That she could throw away the people who believed she was Andraste’s chosen, when those believers were the only ones on her side?

Andraste had never been for her or her people. She and the Maker and all the saints were figments created for the comfort of humans. Whatever she had been in life, she didn’t resemble Irasae. How could she have, when at that time the qunari were unknown to the rest of the world?

And yet, she could not lose this chance.Her own disbelief was as valid as those who chose to believe, as honest as those who made up the Inquisition.

Corypheus wanted the Anchor. She wanted the truth. But only one of them could have both.

Vengeance could be hers. Irasae would sooner see herself Inquisitor than to see someone else taking what was hers.

_You won’t suffer an unknowing rival, will you? Fine._

_I’ll fight you, I’ll take the truth from you, and I’ll survive you._

The cold air felt lighter in her lungs.

 

**_∆_ **

 

Blue sky and sunlight streaked through Skyhold.

More like Sky _wreck._ The place was crumbling in sections, with vines and brush trying to take back what had been built atop it.

_The first thing we’ll have to change._

“Cassandra? Where is Leliana?” asked Irasae.

“In the main hall. I think Cullen is there as well,” replied Cassandra.

“If you see her, tell her to meet there.”

“I will. Is it urgent?”

“Yes.”

“I will track her down.”

Irasae climbed the stairs and entered the hall. 

Moss crept in from the great doors. A chandelier had fallen on the ground, haloing a dark ring ofdirt and must.

“Beautiful place, isn’t it?”said Irasae, to no one in particular.

“It could do with some work,” said Cullen.

“Is the hall sound?” asked Irasae.

“The main buildings are, for the most part. We will have to rebuild the stables and the tavern.”

“Maker knows we’ll need both,” said Josephine.

“As well as other things.”Leliana came to stand beside her. Her hood was drawn back, her hair falling long and red.

She could see why Bull admired the colour so much.

“I know. That’s why I said it was urgent,” replied Irasae.

“Is it the Anchor?” asked Cullen.

“No. It’s about the Inquisitor.”

“So you mean, you wish to?” asked Josephine.

“Yes.”

“Corypheus changed your mind, Adaar?” asked Leliana.

“If I’d died in the pass, he could have gone after my family, not just the Inquisition. I don’t want to take that chance.”

“I see,” replied the Spymaster.

“I’ll do what’s necessary-,” Irasae looked at each of them, “-but it will be done my way, and not as the Herald of Andraste.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” said Josephine, curtsying. She glanced sharply at Cullen.

“Inquisitor,” said Cullen, bowing his head.

“C’est notre honneur,” said Leliana, bowing at the waist. Her eyes were shadowed. “I will make arrangements for the announcement.”

Josephine and Cullen dispersed, making ready for the announcement. Leliana remained behind.

“For being someone so forthright, I do not understand you, Adaar,” she said.

“Strange. Bull tells me I’m an open book,” replied Irasae.

“A prime example of your unorthodox methods. Choosing a qunari spy to be amongst your inner circle?”

“If the Qun goes unplacated, we’ll be in deeper trouble than we are now.”

“That is logical, but it doesn’t answer my question.”

“Which is?” replied Irasae.

“Why bother if you were going to leave in the first place?” asked Leliana. “Why agree to help us in the beginning only to leave later? Wouldn’t the result have been the same?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“Does it have to do with Collette?”

“How much do you know?”

“I know that your company was investigating his involvement in a homicide.”

_So Shokrakar told her. Why the hell wasn’t I told?_

“So that’s why my kith was stationed as security? Is that why we haven’t been paid?” asked Irasae sharply.

“Oh, I paid your captain in full, as per our agreement. And I gave her all the intel I’d collected on him.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I was told it would be unwise.”

“Because of the Breach,” said Irasae.

“You were under enough pressure as it was,” said Leliana.

“I thought he would be at the Conclave. That’s the only reason I ever came at all.”

“You planned to confront him,” said Leliana.

“And bring him before the Divine. That was the plan.”

“I see.”

“ It turns out he was hiding in the Orlesian court all along.”

“And we invited you into a trap.”

“Yeah,” said Irasae. “Little did we know.”

Leliana took the letter and placed it under her robe.

I thought you insensitive for refusing the title. But you had lost just as much as Casandra and I did. I am sorry. Truly.”

“I will never see any of them again. I know…what I’m feeling is what you feel for the Divine.”

“I miss her very much. We all do.”

“So let’s leave our differences in the past,” replied Irasae. She offered her hand.

“For the Inquisition’s sake,” said Leliana, and shook it firmly.

“I’ll see you at the stairs, Leliana,” said Irasae.

“Your worship.”

 

**_∆_ **

Irasae straightened her jacket and fluffed her skirt. She’d left her staff in the hall.

_Shoulders back, tuck your tail in… and breathe._

_One, two, three, four and hold…_

“Sae?”

Oria clapped her on the shoulder.

“I’m proud of you. You’ll do fine,” she said.

“I know,” said Irasae.

“Knock ‘em dead.”

“I think Corypheus already beat me to that.”

“You know what I mean,” retorted Oria. She jumped from the ledge to join the rest of the companions who had gathered below.

People started to filter into the small landing. Irasae fiddled with her buttons.She thought of her cobbled together speech, turning the words over and over in her mind.

It would begin any moment now.

Leliana and Cassandra came down, followed by Cullen and Josephine. Leliana was carrying a sheathed sword.

“This was the original Inquisitor’s sword. I had it sent for before the Conclave, in case we’d found our Inquisitor,” said Leliana. “Little did I know I actually would.”

She gave the sword to Irasae.

“No pomp and ceremony?” asked Irasae.

“I leave it to you, Adaar,” replied Leliana.

Irasae turned to the crowd.

“All right, then,” she said.

“Circumstance has brought us here,” she began, “But it is only by the hard work of the people of the Inquisition that that we have survived those trials. Without your support, the Breach would still be in the sky, and Corypheus would take what he will for himself! Our survival is our victory. However, we cannot rest on that alone. Our enemy is angry.”

“I used to believe that this was my burden to carry. Mine alone.” Irasae held up the Anchor. “I disregarded the concern of others in pursuing my own goals.”

“I am Corypheus’s enemy. I will fight him with everything I have, as a vashoth, as a mage, and as a woman. I will avenge our fallen!”

She unsheathed the sword and raised it high. It was heavy, gleaming silver in the sunlight.

“I will make myself worthy of their sacrifice, but only if you will follow,” she said.

“Commander! Will they follow?” asked Cassandra.

Cullen’s reply could scarcely be heard over the roar of the crowd. The hairs on the back of her neck raised at the sound of their passion.

“Will you fight?” cried Cullen.

“Yes! Fight! Fight!” replied the crowd.

“I present to you your herald, your Inquisitor!” called Leliana.

Cullen raised his own sword. The sound of steel rang out through the small courtyard, swords, bows and staves being raised to the sky.

In an instant, she became nothing. She was the left arm holding the sword. The rest of her body was numb. She couldn’t feel her hands, the tip of the blade swaying like a pendulum.

Irasae stood there for a long time. Then, she put the sword away, and looped it through her belt. She turned up the stairs and into the hall, hearing the great doors being closed behind her.

 

**_∆_ **

_“_ Letter for you, ma’am,” said Charter. The scout handed her a crumpled envelope.

It was from Shokrakar. Irasae tore it open.

“ Has Leliana already seen this?” she asked.

“No, your worship. She told me to bring it straight to you.”

“Where is she now?”

“The rookery,” replied Charter.

Irasae passed through the rotunda.The walls were covered in charcoal lines. Solas was atop a scaffold, painting a white silhouette.

The smell of acrylic paint brought her back through time, in a happier way than magic ever could.

Pa had always taken the large commissions. She remembered the noble house in Starkhaven. She’d been seven years old, and in love with smearingpaint with her fingers.

He’d given her a small canvas to work on while he covered the long hall in scenes from the Canticle of Shartan. The commissioner had been an eccentric Lord with an interest in the hidden past.

“Inquisitor,” said Solas.

“I didn’t know you were also an artist,” said Irasae.

“You didn’t ask.”

“What’s it going to be?”

“I haven’t decided which dreams I want to recreate. There are so many,” replied Solas.

“ I take inspiration from what’s right in front of me,” said Irasae. “To each their own.”

“Indeed.”

The apostate was reabsorbed into his work, clearly not interested in further small talk.

Irasae climbed the stairs to the Rookery.

 The smell of bird hit her nose. Feathers speckled the ground, and the smell of droppings.

“Inquisitor,” greeted Leland.

_“_ I don’t know how you stand the smell,” said Irasae.

“I hardly notice it.”

“Here.” She handed over to the letter.

There was a long pause as the Spymaster read the letter.

“So this Lord Trevelyan is coming after all,” said Leliana.

“We’ve been baiting him a long time. Seems he’s decided to bite,” said Irasae. Her mouth tasted sour.

“Have you met him before?”

“I have,” admitted Irasae. “But you can’t tell what kind of man he is from talking to him.”

“I can tell that much by the trail he leaves behind,” said Leliana. “I understand that this matter is personal.”

“Very,” said Irasae.

“I will keep you informed on his movements. What Shokrakar has in mind will work, as long as she can provide the witnesses on time.”

“If he comes.”

“He will,” replied Leliana.

“Collette’s a fox. The moment he learns you’re on to him-”

_“_ I was the Left Hand of the Divine. Whatever he’s capable of, I’ll more than match him.”

_“_ He killed my best friend. Did Shokrakar tell you that?” asked Irasae.

“I wasn’t aware-”

“-Then you understand that there is no room for failure..”

“I’ve also lost my closest friend to a monster, Adaar. I will make sure that we will not.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adaar, once you take on the responsibility of someone else’s life, you accept the irons. You accept the pain, the personal costs, and all that baggage hiding in the shadows.
> 
> It’s hard. It’s love, it’s labour, and you don’t always get paid back what you invested into it. It’s your choice. 
> 
> We will stand behind your decision, just don’t keep us waiting.
> 
> Shokrakar  
> (And Katoh says hello.) 
> 
> \- Note taped to the bottom of the t


End file.
